It was a man who bore a striking resemblance to him, with the years having settled on him, endowing him with an unmistakable steadiness. He was dressed in a black suit, with neatly cropped short hair, and faint lines had begun to form at the corners of his eyes. Yet his demeanor was refined and poised, his charm extraordinary.
Samuel Johnson slightly furrowed his brows.
What was this guy doing here?
The man sitting in the living room heard his voice and turned his head. He lifted his chin slightly at Samuel, a gesture that, unlike Samuel's haughtiness, carried a touch of casual elegance. "Come over and sit," he said to Samuel.
Samuel was already in a bad mood, and seeing this man speak to him in such a manner made it even worse.
His eyebrows creased as he walked over and sat down in front of his father, asking somewhat irritably, "What are you doing here?"
Shouldn't this guy be overseas, striving for the Johnson family's business?
