#Chapter90
Lyndon Bloom
WESTLEY
CLOSING MY eyes, I took a deep breath the moment I climbed out of the cab.
In front of me was the perimeter stone walls covered with creeping ivy. The expansive double iron-wrought gate swung open like someone was already expecting my arrival.
Jackson, the security guard from the station tipped his head as a courtesy.
The two-story French summer house from the distance came to view with its outdoor living spaces for the guests. This was where everything happened.
The same layout of the well-manicured hedges and shrubs the last time I was here. I walked into the long and wide driveways until I reached the three black SUVs and a black Mercedes Benz parked in front of the house, showing me that my father was here. Two men in suits that I didn’t recognize guarding the front door. Of course, my father was always heavily guarded like an effing Fort Knox.
