There was a long silence on the other end of the phone.
After a while, Tristan Hawthorne cleared his throat and said, "Buddy, checking the schedule is nothing, but what if she’s not Evelyn Clayton?"
"Do you think she’s not?" James Grant’s tone was calm, "Then why were you so eager to tell me?"
Tristan Hawthorne choked a little.
After a long pause, Tristan Hawthorne smiled wryly, "Okay, I admit I’m also having doubts. But I still want to say, what if she’s not? Then you’d be making the trip in vain. Is it worth it?"
James Grant replied without hesitation, lightly saying, "As long as I can find her, even if it means going to my death, it is worth it."
Tristan Hawthorne felt an indescribable frustration, "And if she is her but has already forgotten you, or doesn’t want to see you?"
James Grant felt a pervasive pain in his heart.
After a long time, he said in a deep voice, "As long as I can see her, living well, happy and joyful, it doesn’t matter if she doesn’t remember me. If she doesn’t want to see me... it’s okay, I just want to see her face once."
Honestly, up to now, James Grant didn’t even know how, if he were fortunate enough to find Evelyn Clayton one day, he would say a word to her or how he would meet her.
But the longing had turned into substance, becoming a knife that torments the heart, repeatedly cutting James Grant for many years. He knew he was beyond saving but still wanted to see the only cure for him.
Even if it’s just to see her from afar, he thinks it’s worth it.
Finally, Tristan Hawthorne murmured softly like a slipper, "Give me some time, I’ll get her itinerary for you. But James, this time, don’t do anything stupid again."
After hanging up the phone, James Grant was dazed for a long time, joy and apprehension swirling in his heart, indescribably complex.
He looked at his phone, opened the contact list, and found Yara Reagan’s contact information.
After hesitating for a long time, James Grant dialed from another number.
These years, he had never proactively contacted Yara Reagan, always through Quentin Hale. This was the first time he called her personally.
Yara Reagan didn’t know this number, so she answered quickly.
"Hello, who is this?"
Yara Reagan’s voice was cold and indifferent, with the detached authority of someone in a higher position.
James Grant suddenly felt a little dizzy, as if everyone had changed over the years, except he was left behind in painful memories, stuck in place. Tʜe sourcᴇ of thɪs content ɪs novęlfire.net
His Adam’s apple moved, and James Grant spoke hoarsely, "Yara, it’s me."
A silence lasted for three seconds before the disconnected tone came abruptly.
This did not surprise James Grant; he persistently dialed again.
"Hello, the number you dialed is currently switched off..."
The mechanical cold female voice came through, and a bitter smile flashed in James Grant’s eyes.
He did not insist on calling again, but sent a message instead.
James Grant forwarded a screenshot of the passport to Yara Reagan, without any words, just the picture.
He thought, Yara Reagan would definitely see it.
Once she saw it, she surely wouldn’t remain indifferent.
James Grant waited for her to contact him.
Even if she didn’t, it didn’t matter; he had already decided to find Evelyn Clayton.
Putting away the phone, James Grant did not go back to the kitchen.
The hunger had long gone; James Grant drank a lukewarm cup of coffee and returned to the bedroom.
Looking at the painting on the bedroom wall, James Grant’s eyes were filled with determination and tenderness.
This time, he wouldn’t let her feel any sorrow.
He would protect her, so she would no longer suffer any harm.