NOVPUB
Chapter 862: Chapter 862: Asking the Guest into the Urn
Waylon Huntington’s heart clenched, his face becoming extremely unsightly.
Nine hundred and thirty million!
That was the value of the sedan—nine hundred and thirty million!
Exclusively customized.
The paint, metal sheeting, interior.
All handcrafted.
Meticulously sculpted and polished.
Every detail required a significant amount of time to perfect.
But now...
It was strewn all over the place.
Scattered on the ground.
"Pretty flashy!"
Looking at his masterpiece, Julius Reed nodded in satisfaction.
The sedan no longer had a roof or doors.
The front windshield was directly cracked, resembling a spider’s web.
"Let’s go."
He had one foot on the car and hadn’t even lifted the other when—
Crack!
A loud noise.
The chassis of the car broke into two halves.
Chopped in the middle!
"Huff!"
Waylon Huntington took a deep breath, his face turning red.
Nine hundred and thirty million!
Completely totaled.
One minute ago, it was still a gleaming luxury car.
One minute later, it had become a pile of scrap metal.
"Sorry about that."
Julius Reed stood still, looking somewhat at a loss.
"I thought your car was for driving, didn’t realize it was just a decoration."
He turned and walked towards another sedan.
"Since that’s the case, I’ll change to a different car."
Before he could even reach out—
The car owner dashed over as if his buttocks were on fire!
"Mr. Reed, please."
A middle-aged car owner pulled open the door, sweat streaming down his forehead.
If he’d been half a step slower, perhaps his car door would also be lying on the ground.
Then this multimillion-dollar sedan would likely become a convertible just the same.
Whether it could still run would be another matter altogether.
"Thank you."
Julius Reed smiled politely and sat inside the car.
Bang!
Before he could reach out, the car door was swiftly shut by the owner.
If that door could be ripped off, it probably could be pulled in as well.
A silence fell over the street.
Nobody spoke.
Only the sound of breathing remained.
"Brother, your car, truly not bad."
Beckett Carmichael came over, taking schadenfreude in the situation, "How about selling it to a scrap metal collector? You might get a few thousand back."
"Heh."
Waylon Huntington sneered, the muscles around his mouth twitching uncontrollably.
This was, after all, the seat the old man was most proud of.
At Waylon Huntington’s 70th birthday, all the famous people in the capital gathered to custom-build this sedan as a joint gift.
It was presented to him on the day of his birthday feast.
It could be said that this car represented identity.
It symbolized the status of the Huntington family.
It also represented the face of Darrell Huntington.
In the entire capital, anyone of any significance recognized this car.
But now.
The car was gone.
Totaled beyond repair.
The interior and body were scattered on the ground, the chassis snapped in half across its middle.
The four wheels all askew.
"Are we going or not?"
Crack!
Julius Reed smashed the car window with a punch and poked his head out to ask, "Are we going, or not?"
"Ah..."
The sedan’s owner clenched his fists tightly, his heart shattered.
Even though he had acted like a grandson, he still couldn’t save his beloved car.
Luckily, there was insurance.
A broken window, compared to a total wreck, was still a consolation.
Since it was Waylon Huntington who had initiated today’s event, even if their cars were smashed, they would have to swallow their anger.
"Hiss!"
Waylon Huntington inhaled deeply, his anger sky-high.
But today, his task was to pick someone up.
No matter what, he must bring Julius Reed to the Huntington Mansion.
Endure.
Just endure.
"Eat? Of course, we will eat," he said.
He strode forward to where Julius Reed was standing, leaned over, and said, "It’s just that, Brother Reed, you’ve dismantled my car..."
Bang!
Waylon Huntington’s pupils shrank abruptly, and his body instinctively backed away.
Clang!
Julius Reed pushed the car door down with one hand, stepped in front of Waylon Huntington, and said discontentedly, "What do you mean by that?"
"Ah!"
The owner of the sedan felt as if his heart was bleeding.
But there was no way out.
Today, he followed Waylon Huntington to pick someone up.
If they took action or a conflict arose,
it would surely provoke the discontent of the Huntington family.
Causing a delay to Darrell Huntington’s banquet, no one would bear that responsibility.
Even as he watched his beloved car being smashed, he could only swallow his anger and remain silent.
"This car is owned by my father. It’s worth..."
"You didn’t tell me this was a toy car, did you?"
Before Waylon Huntington could finish, Julius Reed interrupted him: "If you had said the car couldn’t seat people, I wouldn’t have sat in it. It was you who said, ’Please get in the car.’"
"Not for sitting?"
Waylon Huntington narrowed his eyes: "What do you mean by that?"
This custom sedan was well known throughout the capital to belong to Darrell Huntington.
Now, with the words of Julius Reed, there seemed to be an implied insult.
"It’s like it’s made of paper. Or is it meant to seat paper figures?" Julius Reed urged impatiently, "Are we going or not?"
Paper figures?
Weren’t those things used for the dead to accompany them in burial?
Could it be that this young man was cursing Darrell Huntington?
All present stopped what they were doing and looked on to see how Waylon Huntington would respond.
"My patience is limited,"
Julius Reed pointed at Waylon Huntington: "If there’s no sincerity, please leave."
Having said that,
he turned and walked towards the Carmichael mansion.
"Please get in the car."
Behind him,
Waylon Huntington’s face turned pale, his body slightly trembling.
Setting a trap!
His aim today was to take Julius Reed to the Huntington Mansion.
There, a net awaited him.
That’s not how to invite someone,"
Julius Reed turned around, pointing at the car that was now scrap: "If I were you, I’d set it on fire as soon as possible. Sooner or later, your father will still be able to use it."
After speaking, regardless of the peculiar looks from the crowd,
he punched a hole in the roof of the black sedan.
"I don’t like anything pressing over my head."
He sat in the back seat, his eyes half-closed.
"Go!"
Waylon Huntington’s eyes turned somewhat red.
He bellowed, as if venting his dissatisfaction.
And the others, knowing what was good for them, quickly got in the car and drove off at speed,
towards the Huntington family.
"Send the stuff over to the address above."
After the others had left, Beckett Carmichael took a piece of paper out of his pocket
and handed it to Eli Yarrow beside him.
"Brother Davenport’s trip is very likely a Hongmen Banquet."
Eli Yarrow took the paper with a serious expression.
"It’s not likely, it is a Hongmen Banquet!"
Beckett Carmichael’s eyes narrowed into slits: "Darrell Huntington seldom makes a move, but when he does, it’s a big one!"
As the CEO of Abernathy Corporation, he had a good understanding of the capital’s forces.
But the only one he couldn’t see through was Darrell Huntington.
The Huntington family’s old monster always managed to outmaneuver others in every situation.
Years ago, Anson Huntington caused serious injuries to several young masters of the capital.
According to the capital’s understanding of the Huntington family, they definitely couldn’t smooth that incident over.
The involvement was too broad, the backgrounds of those injured too powerful.
Yet, Darrell Huntington somehow managed to suppress the matter.
The end result was that Anson Huntington left the capital for three years.
Since then, Beckett Carmichael never underestimated the Huntington family.
"Hurry up, don’t delay Mr. Reed’s business,"
Beckett Carmichael urged, and Eli Yarrow quickly departed.
"Oh my!"
Glancing at his watch, he slapped his forehead: "Oh no!"
After saying that, he immediately took out his phone and dialed the number Julius Reed had left:
"Miss Huntington? I will come to pick you up right away."
"CEO Carmichael, you are too kind. Is Quella Radcliffe with you?"
"Yes!"
"Then I’ll come myself, you go ahead with your work."
