Novel Square
Making 239
Making 239
In the quiet of the night, a solitary figure ambled down the street.
Wearing a hat and a mask, the streetlights revealed the coarse features of his wind–beaten face. He was a middle–aged man, and his back had a slight stoop to it.
It seemed as though an invisible weight, a burden, was pressing down on him, bowing his back.
He approached a worn–out housing complex and stopped in front of an aging multi–story building. The architectural style was from years ago, showing its age.
He tilted his head up, fixing his gaze on the lit windows of the sixth floor.
His
eyes shimmered, moist with emotion.
After ten long years, he was finally home.
Had his son’s severe illness been cured?
A decade ago, his son, merely ten at the time, was diagnosed with congenital rheumatoid arthritis. The boy couldn’t walk and was constantly in excruciating pain.
Desperate to alleviate his son’s suffering forever, he struck a deal with the head of a major financial conglomerate: do one task for them.
In return, this magnate promised to send his son to the best hospital in Amerest and provide top– tier treatment for his rheumatoid arthritis.
He had personally accompanied his son to that Amerest hospital, watching as the boy was wheeled into the operating room.
Only after that did he return to his homeland to fulfill his end of the deal, completing the task for the magnate.
But that task landed him in prison for a decade.
Once behind bars, he became almost entirely cut off from the outside world.
During those years, his wife had visited him in prison, bringing the uplifting news that their son’s arthritis had been cured. However, she didn’t want their child to know about his father’s incarceration, and so she never brought their son with her on those visits.
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He didn’t want his imprisonment to cause his son any pain.
So for ten years, he hadn’t laid eyes on him.
The middle–aged man proceeded into the building, making his way to the sixth floor.
He extended his hand, knocking on the door.
Knock knock.
There was no answer.
He knocked again, more forcefully this time. Knock, knock, knock…
Jane! It’s me, Maxwell. I’ve returned…” The man’s voice held back the swirling emotions of sorrow and joy.
Yet there was still no response.
This time, the man felt that something was wrong.
He had noticed the lights on when he entered the building; it wasn’t possible for no one to be home.
The dreadful thought crossed his mind: had something happened to his wife and son?
Thinking this, he prepared to force the door open.
Taking a few steps back, he was about to charge when suddenly the door creaked open.
He was taken aback.
Standing in the doorway was a face unfamiliar to him–a young man in his early twenties with delicate features and an extraordinary presence.
“Who are you? Why are you in my house?” the man asked with suspicion in his eyes.
“I’m Gilmore. I’m here to save you,” the young man, identified now as Gilmore, replied.
The middle–aged man grew warier. “Save me?”
“Yes, because someone’s about to come and kill you.”
“Who wants to kill me?”
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“Maxwell” Gilmore replied coolly, deep down, you know who’s after you.”
Indeed, the middle–aged man’s name was Maxwell.
Upon hearing Gilmore’s words, a subtle change flashed across Maxwell’s eyes.
He fell silent for a moment, evaluating Gilmore. Were you sent by James?”
“I told you, I’m here to save you. Why would James send me?” Gilmore replied with a chuckle.
Maxwell quickly scanned the room. Apart from Gilmore, there seemed to be no sign of anyone else.
“Where are my wife and son?” he asked, his gaze fixed on Gilmore.
Gilmore answered, “They’re in James‘ hands. If you want to see them, follow me.”
“Why should I follow you? And based on what you’re saying about my family being with James, why should I believe you?” Maxwell remained guarded.
Without elaborating further, Gilmore said, “If you want to know why, come with me, and I’ll show you something.”
Gilmore walked over to a window and slightly pulled back the curtain.
With a mix of suspicion and caution, Maxwell approached the window and peeked outside.
Aside from the moon and stars, he saw only the ink–black night sky.
“What am I supposed to see?” Maxwell inquired.
Gilmore replied, “Don’t look at the sky. Look down.”
Following the instruction, Maxwell looked down. From NôvelDrama.Org.
The building was situated in an old neighborhood, and he could see a rugged road, only wide enough for a single car, leading up to the building.
Other than that, there was nothing else of note.
He didn’t understand what Gilmore wanted him to see?
But before he could ask Gilmore further questions, the sound of engines rumbled in the
distance.
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He watched as four or five vehicles approached on the narrow road that only permitted single–file traffic. The cars parked sequentially outside his building.
From three of the vehicles, a dozen robust men in black suits emerged. Their sturdy builds and mannerisms made it apparent they were seasoned martialists.
But what caught Maxwell’s attention most wasn’t the men, but an elder who stepped out of one of the cars.
Maxwell’s face paled, and he murmured in surprise, “Bob!”
“That’s right,” Gilmore confirmed, “Bob, James‘ butler. He’s here to kill you. Oh, my mistake, he’s actually here to retrieve something from you.”
“How did you know they’re after something?” Maxwell asked, eyes narrowing at Gilmore.
“I also know about the micro storage card you possess, which holds secret footage – it’s the leverage you have over James,” Gilmore stated.
Maxwell was taken aback. He hadn’t expected Gilmore to be privy to such confidential information.
“We don’t have much time. If you don’t want to be captured by Bob, come with me,” Gilmore urged.
Glancing downstairs, Maxwell noticed Bob, leading a team of about a dozen men, entering the building.
He quickly made up his mind, “Alright, I’ll follow you.”
“But they’re already heading up. If we take the stairs, we’ll run right into them.”
Gilmore smirked, “Who said anything about using the stairs? Follow me to the balcony.”
Maxwell looked puzzled, unsure of what Gilmore had in mind leading him to the balcony. Regardless, he followed Gilmore to the sixth–floor balcony.
“Close your eyes,” Gilmore instructed.
Maxwell did as he was told.
Suddenly, he felt Gilmore grab hold of the belt tighten around his waist.
An intense sensation overcame him, feeling like he was flying, the wind rushing by him,
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followed by the feeling of plummeting from a height.
The shock caused him to open his eyes instantly.
To his amazement, when he opened his eyes, he found himself no longer on the sixth–floor balcony but on the ground below.
Maxwell was taken aback, thinking, “Did Gilmore just… carry me and jump off the balcony?”
Before he could gather his thoughts, Gilmore pulled Maxwell into a car, which Bob and his men had driven there.
Without wasting a moment, Gilmore sped away.
By the time Bob and his team reached the sixth floor, they heard the roaring engine of a car. Rushing to the window, one of them exclaimed, “Damn it, Bob, someone’s taking our car!”
A sharp gleam appeared in Bob’s eyes. “It’s got to be Maxwell! He’s trying to escape in our vehicle. Chase him!”
All of them, led by Bob, hurriedly descended the stairs.
But by the time they got outside, the car driven by Gilmore had already disappeared into the night.