I had just hung up the phone when Malcolm, panting heavily, walked toward me.
"Griffin, your crappy car must have steel bars inside or something. My hands are completely numb from all that pounding!"
I curled my lips slightly, suppressing a smile.
"Steel bars? I don't know. But I can confirm one thing. It's bulletproof. Oh, and I think you should know the name of the car you've been smashing. It's called a Phantom S9. And no, it’s not any cheaper than your Rolls-Royce."
After hearing my words, Malcolm still acted unimpressed, his face full of disdain.
"Don’t give me that nonsense. It’s just some lousy domestic car. I don't believe it could be worth that much!"
At that moment, someone in the crowd suddenly shouted, "Look over there!"
Hearing this, the crowd immediately turned their heads.
A convoy of military vehicles, with over ten pickups bearing military license plates, drove toward us in a grand procession.
Malcolm immediately put down the iron rod in his hand and greeted them with a smile. "Welcome, leaders! You should’ve let me know in advance so I could make preparations."
At that moment, a tall and handsome officer walked up slowly.
"Hurry up and arrange a private room. Our leaders need to hold a meeting here."
Seeing this, everyone immediately stood still, hands behind their backs, behaving as obedient as elementary school students.
However, I stood motionless in place, not moving an inch.
Malcolm, noticing this, quickly scolded me, "Griffin, move aside! Didn’t you hear what they said?"
I took a few slow steps forward.
"I heard. The leaders are having a meeting here."
Malcolm shouted anxiously, "Why aren't you moving? If you're trying to get yourself killed, don't drag me down with you!"
Get myself killed?
I couldn't help but laugh aloud. "If I'm leaving, who's going to hold the meeting for them then?"
