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.

had killed his beloved son and would strut on his own turf freely

his head high if

and shaking his head. "Then did you read the part on why I killed him? You're a real failure of a

swore they could hear

him, however, and turned toward Walter, sighing in disappointment. "Shouldn't you be standing up to explain the facts? I remember how you bravely volunteered that you'd speak with your own brother personally. Why

his cheeks, pain swelling in his

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

there were two deaths, and

was Walter supposed to explain that? If anything, he had come ready to

two lowlifes? So what if they are dead? No one will

Vicky strode into the banquet hall in her white gown, her long black hair flowing beneath

all grown

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