Lance knew when he left his office, some big shots were fattening up pigs, and they were definitely doing it for the pork.
Balzti Investment Bank was their pig, so the funds had had their owner all along.
Although he couldn't touch the eight-digit funds, he could still move the two or three million in the mansion's cellar.
When he got back to the little cabin on the outskirts, his expression had already changed.
He looked at President Peiman and his secretary beside him, a faint smirk of mockery unknowingly crept onto his face.
The wounds on their feet had stopped bleeding naturally, swollen even though Lance couldn't see it, he knew.
Both were running a fever.
Seeing Lance return, the secretary licked his somewhat pale lips, "I need some antibiotics, I can pay for them."
Peiman said the same, they both knew they were running fevers, being infected with bacteria and viruses.
Fever is terrifying for humans, it means their body is waging a war that decides life and death.
