Chris Fern also wanted to know where he had gone wrong.
Sylvan Cheney's face was calm.
The cigarette in his hand had burned out, he discarded the butt at his feet, crushing it with his leather shoes.
After a while, Sylvan Cheney lit another cigarette, his actions elegant and natural.
"Do you think I wouldn't know Teagan Cheney's little tricks?" Sylvan Cheney sneered, "You all discovered his manipulations, of course, I did too."
Sylvan Cheney stopped there, and Chris Fern understood.
Disappointment filled Chris Fern's eyes, endless and overwhelming, like the thick fog in this weather, with no end in sight.
He understood.
Sylvan Cheney had known everything; he had just played along, indulging their greed, to see just how far they would go.
Undoubtedly, Sylvan Cheney had won.
They were never a match for Sylvan Cheney; they merely relied on Spencer Childe's favoritism to plot against him.
Unfortunately, while the mantis stalks the cicada, the oriole lurks behind.
