The banquet hall erupted in an uproar at Glen's outburst.

"What?! Someone killed Les Turnbull?"

"No way, he's dead? And that brat killed him?!"

"That's the son of the family head we're talking about... Who the hell let him in here?"

Frank could feel everyone's eyes on him.

He glanced coldly at Walter in turn and said calmly, "Yes, I killed him."

"How dare you!" Glen bellowed, clearly unable to retrain his own wrath.

son and would strut on his own turf freely

would he hold his head high if word got

laughing out loud and shaking his head. "Then did you read the part on why

swore they could

explain the facts? I remember how you bravely volunteered that you'd speak with your own

Walter was left clenching his cheeks, pain swelling in his

if it was just Les—he was just Glen's bastard and had a troubled reputation in the family. His death was at best inconsequential, and Walter could

problem was that there were two deaths, and

to explain that? If anything, he

two lowlifes? So what if they are dead? No

banquet hall in her white gown, her long black hair flowing beneath her tiara

grown

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