"Brian James is dead?"
In the presidential suite of the top-tier Dragon Cauldron Hotel in Polgel, a handsome young man with his upper body bare leaned casually on the sofa. Beside him sat a beautiful woman dressed in a transparent gauze dress, feeding him grapes she had peeled.
In the center of the living room stood an ordinary-looking middle-aged man with black-framed glasses, calmly reporting, "Yes, dead along with him is his son, Shepard James."
The beautiful woman had a graceful figure, and the spring light under her transparent dress was faintly visible, incredibly tempting, but the middle-aged man seemed not to see her at all, his expression as placid as a still well.
A look of surprise crossed the young man's face, "Cut the grass and eliminate the roots? Interesting, who killed them?"
