After a chaotic clatter of banging, one of the bodyguards hurried over to Malcolm, looking flustered.
"Mr. Fitzroy, we’ve been hitting it for a while, but this car… it won’t even dent!"
Malcolm paused briefly before grabbing the iron rod from the bodyguard and storming toward the car with resolve.
Once. Twice. Three times.
He swung the rod with all his might, delivering dozens of heavy blows. Yet, apart from a few chips in the paint, the car remained unscathed.
As Malcolm continued his futile effort, my phone began to buzz incessantly in my pocket. Unable to ignore it any longer, I discreetly answered the call.
"Hello? Yeah, something came up. I won’t be able to make it back right away. Can you inform everyone to move the meeting to Langston Grand Hotel instead? Yes, that’s right. The one owned by the Fitzroy Group. Bring the whole team here."
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.