The Turnbulls’ family dinner was cut short in a hurry.
It was supposed to be a party for the family’s members and associates, where they would mingle with one another. After that came meetings and reports of financial standings, following which they would come to agree on the family’s strategic development.
However, the South Sea Crow happened.
Not only were most of them forced to drink mop water, but Marit also blew herself up, leaving them with burns and ugly scars.
Moreover, not only were they forced to give up on their annual dinner, but their usual socializing events with the other rich and important individuals and families of Morhen had to be called off too.
Glen was supposed to announce the wedding between Titus and Vicky at the dinner, but things certainly went south. At their current state, the Turnbulls would be everyone’s laughing stock!
Hence, the many guests who had just arrived were cordially asked to leave.
Naturally, it was easier said than done—the Turnbulls were a family of magnates and had legions of partners and associates. Many of their invited guests had come from miles away, even neighboring states.
As such, their mess left all those guests discontented.
“So be it!”
An annoyed Glen snapped at one of the messengers who told him exactly that. “It’d still be better than letting them see the sorry state we’re in!”
He and the other executives of this family were gathered in a smaller banquet hall. Like him, most of their faces or hands were left with charred burnt marks. They looked just like dalmatians, and it was a hilarious sight considering their usual lofty demeanor.
Even as they looked at each other, speechless, Glen turned toward Frank impatiently after sending away the messenger. “Do you have a way to cure our burns?”
Now, Glen did not harbor any distrust toward Frank at all after he saved everyone despite their bug infection. If anything, it was no exaggeration to say that his prowess was divine.
However, Frank could not care less. “I do. But why should I care?”
“You’re out of line!” a Turnbull executive bellowed.
He was barely holding back, as his chest was burning with rage—even if Frank did save their lives, he also made their noble selves drink mop water!
In some ways, it was worse than getting killed.
“Shut up!” Glen barked, finally speaking up to defend Frank, even shooting that Turnbull executive a glare.
Turning back to Frank, his tone turned humble and earnest, he said, “What are you asking for, Mr. Lawrence? You can have all the money you want.”
“Hmph…” Frank snorted.
He had already seen through Glen—the man would not have bothered to speak so politely with him if not for those scars.
As such, he said bluntly, “I still ask for the same—annul Vicky’s engagement. Say yes, and I will heal everyone right away.”
Glen’s face contorted right then—the brat really said the one thing he did not want to hear.
Still, he did his best to compose himself and spoke to Frank calmly. “I can concede that you excel in both martial arts and medicine, Mr. Lawrence, but even a man like you can’t capture the South Sea Crow, can you?”
