Chapter 181 Tracking Down Michael's Grandmother
The moment Amelia ended her call with K, she forwarded the address from her inbox straight to Michael. Without hesitation, she dialed his number.
Michael was seated at his desk, eyes fixed on several surveillance feeds glowing on the screen. The vast room was oppressively silent. His expression was carved from stone, his gaze sharp enough to cut through steel. Even without speaking, his presence alone weighed on everyone in the room.
No one dared to make a sound.
These men had been summoned to Sulien long before the crisis began. The Johnson Group had once dipped its hands into the gray market, inevitably crossing paths with the underworld. Years ago, Stefan had trained a covert unit, later sending them overseas. When Michael arrived in Sulien, he brought them all back.
For four days, Sulien's police, the local gangs, and Michael's own men had scoured the city for his grandmother. They had found nothing.
The longer the search dragged on, the darker Michael's mood became. His men, paid millions every year, now stood under his scrutiny with nothing to show for it. The tension in the room was suffocating.
One thing was clear: the people who had taken his grandmother were not from Sulien. If they were, the police and gangs would have picked up their trail by now. This was a professional team—precise, fast, and invisible. They were still in Sulien, hiding somewhere no one could find, waiting for the search to cool before slipping away.
The investigation had hit a wall. The next step would be a door-to-door sweep, but Sulien was not Celestria. Even with police cooperation, such an operation would be massive.
A bead of sweat slid down one man's temple as he waited for Michael's orders.
Then Michael's phone rang.
Every man in the room stiffened. Who would dare call him now?
But when Michael glanced at the caller ID, the ice in his expression melted in an instant. He answered without hesitation, his voice low but laced with unmistakable warmth.
"Baby, what's wrong?"
Baby…
Several hardened men nearly choked. Was this the same man they knew—the one who ruled like a king from hell, who never smiled at anyone?
Amelia had no idea Michael wasn't alone. She spoke quickly, telling him that a friend in Sulien had found his grandmother—at a derelict bar. The location was already in his inbox. She warned him that the people holding her belonged to a mercenary group. Their numbers were unknown, but they were dangerous. If he was going in, he needed to be prepared.
Michael hadn't expected this. His three search teams had turned up nothing, yet Amelia, thousands of miles away, had found the answer.
He gripped the phone, wanting to thank her, but the word felt strange on his tongue. Instead, he thought of the moment fate had placed her in his path in River City—how quickly he had fallen for her.
"Michael," Amelia's voice softened through the line, "promise me you won't get hurt. Find your grandmother, bring her home. I'll be waiting in River City."
"Alright." His fingers brushed the phone's receiver, his voice steady and deep. "I promise. I'll come back to you."
When the call ended, Michael pulled up the address in his inbox. His eyes hardened. He looked up at his men.
Sulien. A derelict bar.
Beneath it, the basement was damp and stale, the air thick with the scent of rot. Dust lay heavy on broken cabinets and warped furniture, rising in choking clouds with every step.
A broad-shouldered man with a buzz cut slammed the door shut, balancing a tray with a bowl of porridge and a metal spoon used for crushing pills.
"Boss, how much longer are we staying in this dump?" His voice was edged with impatience. "We've been hiding for four days. Isn't the ferry to Celestria arranged yet?"
"I'm not in a hurry. Why are you?" The man they called Boss had a long scar running from his forehead to the corner of his right eye. His gaze never left his phone.
"There are crews all over the city looking for us. You didn't know?"
"And you… all you have to do is watch over an old woman who barely knows where she is. Feed her oatmeal, mix in the sleeping pills, and keep your mouth shut."
The buzz cut man muttered under his breath, retreating to find something to eat.
In the corner, another man—this one bald—was crouched over a crate, checking and cleaning a set of rifles.
Minutes later, the scar-faced man's phone vibrated. His posture straightened instantly as he answered.
"Mr. Johnson?" His tone shifted to respectful. "Is everything ready?"
The voice on the other end was cold, commanding. "Your location hasn't been compromised, has it? How is Michael's grandmother?"
"Safe. No one knows about this bar except you. Even if someone comes inside, they won't find the basement. She's eating well, sleeping well. When the time comes, you'll get her in person and we'll take the payment."
"Good." The voice was clipped. "In forty minutes, a black SUV will pull up outside. Bring her out and get in. It will take you to the dock. From there, you'll be met and taken aboard the ferry to Celestria. Once she's in the country, the remaining five million dollars will be wired to your account. After that, you can disappear anywhere you want—except Celestria or Sulien."
"No problem, Mr. Johnson." The scar-faced man grinned, revealing yellowed teeth. "We're professionals. We've done this before."
When he hung up, he relayed the plan to the others.
The buzz cut man, relieved to be leaving the suffocating basement, began packing immediately.
But before they were halfway done, a sound echoed from upstairs.
It was the metallic rattle of the bar's shutter door being lifted.
"Wasn't that supposed to be in forty minutes?" The buzz cut man froze. "It's only been twenty… did they come early?"