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The Dangerous Wealthy Punk Chapter One Hundred And Seventy One
There was a happy vibe around George's house. The sound of clinking glasses was accompanied by laughter at his extravagant celebration of his latest successes. The sensation of achievement that permeated the air was evidence of his unwavering pursuit of his objectives. The colourful tapestry of attendees included friends, neighbours, business associates, and even distant relatives from his mother's side. The evening transpired as to a dream. Tables creaked from the weight of a magnificent feast, as servers made their way through the throng, passing flutes of champagne to each person to make sure their glass was full. The air was filled with music, a subtle fusion of modern and classical styles that created an exquisite but welcoming atmosphere. George found himself surrounded by his closest business associates as the evening wore on. Mr. Petrov, an experienced investor renowned for his quality of being able to quickly understand a situation and see how to get an advantage from it, an
The Dangerous Wealthy Punk Chapter One Hundred And Seventy Two
George's morning peace was disrupted by the phone's persistent ringing. He felt a shock when he looked at the caller ID and saw it was Colonel , an army buddy. Colonel voice crackled with intensity, "George, we have an urgent situation down at HQ and we need you." Curious and a little scared, George pulled himself together fast. He was aware that Petrov would not contact him until an emergency arose. After a short while, he arrived to the military headquarters where an aura of tension pervaded the space. He was met in a secure briefing room by a grim-faced Mrs. Janeth and Colonel . Without delay, Colonel said, "George, we've got one of Armstrong's best spies in custody. This individual was involved in the planning of the jail escape." A wave of excitement swept over George. This may be the innovation they have been looking for. They could finally capture Armstrong and put a stop to his reign of terror if they had the appropriate information. "Well done!" he cried out. "Have
The Dangerous Wealthy Punk Chapter One Hundred And Seventy Three
After the debriefing, George and Mrs. Janeth were left in a quiet part of the headquarters by themselves. Unspoken anxiety hummed across the air. George reached out and put a consoling hand on her shoulder as he sensed her distress. "Janeth, how are you doing?" he said softly. Mrs. Janeth took a while to reply. With a tempest of emotions building behind her steely blue eyes, her gaze wandered out the window. At last, her voice was hardly audible above a whisper. "Armstrong spy words… they brought back memories I'd buried deep within." George became more worried. He was aware of Mrs. Janeth's previous connection with Armstrong, which was characterised by suffering and secrecy. He said nothing, giving her the freedom to say as much as she felt comfortable sharing. "He wasn't always like this, George," Mrs. Janeth said, a little shaky in her speech. "There was a moment... before his rage got the better of him. We were innocent and naïve, and I thought I loved him." In sharp co
The Dangerous Wealthy Punk Chapter One Hundred And Seventy Four
Mrs. Janeth felt the burden of duty bear down on her shoulders. She was driven by George's unshakable trust in her to not only apprehend Armstrong but also face him, to at last face the guy who had caused her so much suffering. Driven by this resolve, Mrs. Janeth came up with a strategy that went beyond their joint strategic planning sessions. She made covert contact with some of the security staff in George's own organization, people she knew to be very devoted and skilled investigators. These spies, sworn to secrecy, set out on a covert mission to find Armstrong's hiding place. Days became an agonizing game of waiting. For Mrs. Janeth, every hour was an eternity as she struggled with contradictory feelings. A glimmer of optimism clashed with the anxiety of failing, the memory of Armstrong disappearing again and causing havoc in his wake. Then there was a hint of triumph on the sixth day. With a quiet haste, one of the undercover operatives called Mrs. Janeth. Armstrong had
The Dangerous Wealthy Punk Chapter One Hundred And Seventy Five
The uncomfortable calm around George was broken by a harsh knock on the study door. With an expression of astonishment, he asked Mrs. Janeth a question that remained unsaid. Before Mrs. Janeth could ask her question, George yelled, "Come in."The door cracked open, revealing a crimson image. Georgia was framed in the doorway, her beauty enhanced by a flaming dress that hugged every curve. A practiced grin danced on her lips, but the practiced confidence in her gaze was tempered with a spark of desperation. George felt a shock since he had never seen her expression before; it was a vulnerable gaze.She purred, "George, darling," her voice a perfected melody that used to give him chills. "May I come in?"George got up from his chair, his astonishment quickly turning to politeness. Naturally, Georgia. Please enter."He motioned to a chair, keeping a courteous distance that seemed a great deal more than it had been in their past interactions. Georgia's polished charm cracked for a second
The Dangerous Wealthy Punk Chapter One Hundred And Seventy Six
The sound of gunshots reverberated around the deserted warehouse. Mrs. Janeth huddled behind a stack of boxes, her heart a frenzied drum solo on her ribs. Angry lights shooting from across the room revealed dust motes dancing in the air. George's security system, a well-oiled apparatus refined for just these kinds of circumstances, was engaged in a vicious dance with Armstrong's men.The sharp sting of cordite and the metallic flavour of gunpowder filled the air. Mrs Janeth heard bullets squeak past her head and sink into the corrugated metal walls with a horrible thud. The guttural roar of automatic guns and the anguished screams of the injured broke the staccato pattern of firing.Colonel Petrov and his tactical battalion proceeded with well-honed precision across the large, open area. Their motions were lethal and precise, like those of ghosts in the shadows. Their guns fired in short, deliberate bursts that quickly and precisely neutralised Armstrong's soldiers. The sound of metal
The Dangerous Wealthy Punk Chapter One Hundred And Seventy Seven
The military prison facility's impersonal white walls made Armstrong feel insignificant. The luxurious furnishings and soft carpeting from his former confinement cell have vanished. Here, concrete was king and the sole decoration was a single fluorescent bulb that flickered and gave him a sickly, ugly glow.His thoughts were filled with the picture of Mrs. Janeth's stern glare, a terrifying reminder of his demise. In his isolation, bitterness was a continual companion, eating away at him. That George, his own cousin, had turned him in was beyond shocking to him. It brought back memories of a carefree, youthful period of life. George, beaming and teasing, the familial tie appearing indestructible. But that George was long dead, long since replaced by a man whose sense of justice and duty had hardened him. When Armstrong was originally discovered engaging in questionable activities directed against the Hopkins Group, which was led by George's father at the time, pardon had been grante
The Dangerous Wealthy Punk Chapter One Hundred And Seventy Eight
Still, a little bit of doubt gnawed at the margins of George's newly determined determination. Even when the obligations were paid off, a feeling of justice was still unsatisfied. There was a simmering sense that his uncles, now free men again, still had the capacity to cause problems. Yes, they were reprimanded, but leopards don't completely alter their spots. George still had a secret weapon in his sleeve—an ace that would eventually bring them to ruin. They may pretend to be sorry or show signs of humility, but he would see right through them. He was aware that their desire for riches and power persisted, like a ticking time bomb ready to go off.Meanwhile, another type of tension simmered in the air behind the antiseptic walls of the military jail. Seated opposite his imprisoned son Armstrong was a haggard man with a haunting expression in his eyes: Mr. Daniel Armstrong's father. The older Armstrong's eyes filled with tears, and the harsh fluorescent light glinted off them. Shame
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