Chapter 809: Chapter 809: Shouldn’t Cry_1
The retirees meeting was a celebration, as well as a ritual. Every esteemed member of the Howard Family would participate.
Gathered together, they drank and made merry, praising Roy Howard’s abilities, admiring his contributions, and thanking him for his sacrifices to the family. In essence, the occasion was a grand facade, designed to gracefully strip Roy Howard of his power while all maintained a facade of harmony and happiness.
Except for Damian Howard and two aged great-uncles who stayed behind due to poor health, nearly every other person of note in the Howard Family was in attendance.
And then, an unexpected explosion claimed the lives of all these people!
If the Howard Family was a juicy piece of meat, then its members were like wolves guarding it. Now, with the majority of the pack gone, how could they protect this meat?
In the wake of such a disaster, the Howard Family was bound to be unstable for a long time.
And faced with such a mess, Damian Howard would undoubtedly channel his rage into a furious assault and reprisal against Roy Howard.
Gavin Graves told Purple Summers, “No one believes that Roy Howard is dead, not even Damian Howard. To force Roy to show himself, Damian will use any means necessary. By the time you land at Clearwater Airport, you’ll likely be seized by him and used as a hostage.
Zack Wallace and Roy Howard’s loyal subordinates have already retreated to Pearlpoint City; Damian’s men are there as well, stretched thin and worried that you might learn of the news and rashly return to Clearwater, unwittingly playing into Damian’s hands. That’s why they specifically asked for my help to find you.”
Purple Summers sat silently in the car, staring blankly ahead, her voice as if not her own, “Is he still alive?”
She didn’t care about anything else; she just wanted to know one thing: Is he still alive?
Gavin Graves remained silent.
“He can’t be dead,” Purple Summers murmured. “The fortune-teller said he has the destiny of a hero in turbulent times; unless the heavens decree his death, no one can kill him. The more schemes and plots there are, the more likely they’ll turn his misfortune into a blessing…”
As she spoke this way, a deeper sorrow crept into Gavin’s eyes, “He’ll be fine.”
It was unclear whether he was referring to Roy Howard or Purple Summers.
“He definitely won’t die,” Purple Summers kept whispering to herself, “He has returned alive from Shark Bay and snake pits. Even if there’s an explosion, he surely would be unharmed.”
Purple Summers found every excuse to convince herself, over and over, Alexander Summers couldn’t be dead.
It was impossible for him to be dead.
How could he be? They had already planned their future together, just waiting for her to turn eighteen to truly be together, to build a home on a warm-island all year round, away from gossip and schemes, to have a wedding, to live together, to raise children…
Jane McCain had said that having mixed-race children was the best, but she didn’t envy her at all; she just wanted to have his children, to have two daughters.
Unaware, tears began to flow down, cooling on the lips, tasting bitter.
He clearly wasn’t dead; she shouldn’t be crying.
When the car arrived at the hospital, a new notification popped up on her phone’s news feed—the salvage team had just found the remains of Alexander Summers’s clothing from that day. The photo resolution was very clear, the dark blue fabric bore delicate hidden-pattern embroidery, and within the threads, there were spots of blood.
Purple Summers only glanced at it before her body went limp, and she fainted.
Subconsciously, she felt she shouldn’t faint; at such a critical moment, she should be looking more carefully for clues to understand what exactly happened with the explosion.
But she just couldn’t handle it.
Darkness swirled before her eyes, her blood felt like it was flowing backward, and then she lost consciousness.