She stood downstairs.
Watching as the car gradually became more distant, turning into a small shadow.
The whole process was incredibly fast.
After a while, Yvonne Finley turned and went upstairs.
There shouldn't be any problems -
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＊
It was late at night.
Time was ticking away by the minute, by the second.
It was past midnight.
At a certain vacation club.
A floor lamp was on in the room.
A calming aromatherapy candle was lit.
A man sat on the sofa, a cigarette between his fingers. He brushed it off on the ashtray next to him. His hand was slim, his bones prominent.
There was a tablet next to him.
On the screen was a picture.
A man and a woman standing in front of a motorcycle, their interaction harmonious and warm.
"Mr. Hank, our men we sent have been dealt with - "
Someone came in to report.
