Sure enough, a group came storming up to Ethan's front gate.
BANG—
The courtyard gate flew open with a violent kick.
"Who the hell started a fire in the Silverwood estate?! You outta your mind?!"
With a loud crack, the wooden door split clean in half.
Ethan's expression darkened. Sure, maybe we weren't totally in the right here—but that tone? What, was this guy planning to kill us or something?
But before he could even finish his sentence, his face twisted like he'd just sucked on a lemon. Then, he forced a smile so painfully fake, it almost hurt to look at.
"Uh… M-Mr. Markham? It's you?! Take your time—by all means, carry on!"
He spun around and bolted.
Behind him, one of the others muttered, "Lars, what the hell? If you don't want to lead the team, just hand it over—I'll take it!
Screw Markham or whoever—today, I'm calling myself his grandpa!"
The rest of them, watching Lars's pathetic retreat, exchanged looks of open contempt.
