Griffith Squire didn't sleep a wink all night, planning how to deceive the young girl, pondering over a hundred and eighty methods, all of which he rejected.
When dawn broke, the man finally dozed off, but hadn't been asleep long before a rapid knocking on the door was heard, followed by the anxious voice of the butler: "Mr. Squire, Mr. Squire."
Griffith Squire got up, his handsome face now shadowed darkly as if rain could fall from it.
"There are, are, people outside." The old butler, seeing Mr. Squire's expressionless face, pointed to the downstairs living room, his voice inexplicably stuttering.
Although Mr. Squire appeared somewhat mischievous when he smiled, he was even more intimidating when he didn't. The old butler had grievances he couldn't express, especially since the visitors were from the Lincoln Family.
This was bound to turn chaotic.
"Who's here?" The man fastened his robe haphazardly, scratched his wavy hair, and prepared to head downstairs.
