Chapter 219

Mother and son exchanged a look.

They were finally getting to the money.

Deborah quickly climbed down from the window.

The window was pitifully narrow.

It couldn't possibly fit an adult.

Her previous actions were all an act.

Just to force Ethan Roscente to show himself.

She had succeeded.

But Deborah didn't notice.

The assistant was looking at them with a hidden meaning in his eyes.

Deep within that gaze.

There was actually a trace of pity.

...

The pair stepped back into the office.

It was still just as luxurious.

Deborah got straight to the point.

"Five million."

Ethan raised an eyebrow. "Not fifty million?"

Deborah cursed inwardly.

She certainly wanted that.

But the other party wouldn't give it.

These rich people were so stingy.

They could spend millions on fun.

But refused to give a little more in charity.

She had seen through it.

The wealthy only cared about value.

Victoria Roscente was initially meek and submissive.

After turning hostile, she wouldn't even answer calls.

Making a scene and acting unreasonably was useless.

Deborah laid her cards on the table.

"You and Isabella were in a consensual relationship."

"But you hurt her."

"Compensation is only right."

"The amount is negotiable."

Ethan gave a light laugh. "You've gotten smarter."

"Five million. Yes or no?"

"If yes, take the money and leave."

"And never bother me again."

Ethan said calmly, "I already gave Isabella three million."

"Now it's only two million."

"What?! You gave her three million?!"

Deborah nearly jumped up.

Tyson Richter's eyes also widened.

Isabella hadn't mentioned a single word.

Both were lost in their own thoughts.

Ethan said bluntly, "Leave the account number."

"It will be there before noon."

Deborah breathed a sigh of relief. "Fine."

"Remember your words."

"Don't show up again."

"Otherwise—"

Deborah's mind was full of the money.

She assured him repeatedly, "Don't worry!"

"I'll disappear once I get the money!"

Tyson swallowed hard.

Five million.

He had never seen that much money.

First, buy a nice car.

Let everyone know he had made it.

Ethan raised his hand. "See them out."

The assistant pushed the door open.

"This way, please—"

The mother and son floated out of the building.

Five million was a lot.

They couldn't earn that in ten lifetimes.

They were about to head back to the hotel.

A truck approached.

Its speed was normal at first.

The pair didn't pay it any mind.

Cars yield to pedestrians.

But the truck suddenly accelerated.

It slammed into them.

"Mom—"

Tyson was terrified.

Deborah yanked her son aside.

"How are you driving?!"

"Are you blind?!"

"You almost killed someone!"

"Pay up! You have to pay!"

Deborah planted her hands on her hips and shouted.

"This isn't over!"

"We need to go to the hospital for a check-up!"

"Compensation for emotional distress is a must!"

Tyson fell to the ground, rolling around.

"I was scared to death!"

"My head isn't clear!"

"Everything went black!"

Mother and son worked in perfect sync.

It was clear they did this often.

The baseball-capped driver smirked.

He floored the accelerator.

Deborah's shouts cut off abruptly.

Tyson's pupils contracted violently.

...

Before the floor-to-ceiling window.

The man looked down at the street scene.

The traffic flowed like a woven ribbon.

Ethan checked his watch.

Half an hour had passed.

There should be a result.

Two minutes later.

His phone rang.

He answered without speaking.

A hoarse male voice came from the other end.

"It's done."

Ethan's expression didn't change.

"Dead?"

"Too many cameras in the downtown area."

"Hard to hit them a second time."

Ethan's voice was icy.

"Answer me."

"Dead or alive?"

"Not dead."

As expected.

Ethan laughed.

But his voice was cold.

"Incompetent?"

"Sorry."

"Commission halved."

"Fine."

The call ended.

Ethan put away his phone.

He stared coldly out the window.

His gaze was stern and murderous.

At the same time.

The truck driver took off his baseball cap.

He let out a long breath.

Ethan wanted to buy a life for a million.

He wasn't stupid.

Going to jail for that amount of money.

Injure, don't kill.

Half the commission was still five hundred thousand.

No risk involved.

The driver whistled triumphantly.

This deal was worth it.

He hoped it happened more often.

Smiling, he picked up his phone.

He dialed a number.

"Hey, you guessed right."

"Ethan Roscente wanted a hit."

"The info is yours."

"How do you want to pay?"

"Don't worry, you'll get it."

A payment notification arrived seconds later.

Fifty thousand.

Fifty thousand for one piece of information.

"Generous as always, Mr. Evans."