Chapter 48
The beautiful woman stood with a look of distaste, her gaze fixed on the greasy signboard outside the restaurant. Every feature on her delicate face, from the fine arch of her brows to the slight purse of her lips, displayed her disapproval. She was dressed in a pale yellow dress, white stockings, and pristine white cloth shoes. Her jet-black hair cascaded down her back in soft waves, and her heart-shaped face was a picture of elegance—one that clearly wasn’t meant to be near such a place.
“Isn’t she Walter’s granddaughter, Queenie Watson?” someone whispered.
“Nonsense. She’s my wife!” another voice quickly shot back.
“Damn, can you all be any more shameless?” A group of young men nearby laughed amongst themselves, but Queenie’s sharp hearing caught the conversation.
She frowned, clearly irritated. “Clear the venue,” she said coolly to the bodyguard standing beside her.
The bodyguard nodded slightly, then gave a swift signal. In an instant, several more bodyguards poured into the restaurant. The customers, startled by the sudden presence of security, froze. Some of them even tumbled over their chairs in panic.
Walter, now noticing the commotion, raised a hand in frustration. “All of you, get back here.”
The leader of the bodyguards, unfazed by the old man’s reprimand, pulled out a stack of banknotes, ready to “clear” the venue by offering customers a few hundred dollars to leave peacefully. If anyone resisted, they’d use force.
At Walter’s insistence, the bodyguards stepped back, and the customers, still shaken, quietly returned to their meals.
Queenie, however, pouted, clearly unsatisfied. “Grandpa, I don’t want to be around these dirty people. They’re filthy, and it ruins my mood,” she whined, her voice sweet but full of complaint.
Her words drew some curious glances from the young men around, but they dared not approach her.
Walter, clearly annoyed, barked back, “I told you not to come, but you insisted. Now you’re here, making demands. Do you really think Jonford belongs to you?”
Queenie, spoiled from childhood and never having to face hardship, felt uncomfortable in the unrefined surroundings. But seeing the irritation on her grandfather’s face, she reined in her complaints and reluctantly followed him.
Shaking his head helplessly, Walter turned to Brian with a smile. “I’ve embarrassed myself in front of you, Dr. Tanner.”
Brian, used to the whims of the wealthy, wasn’t surprised by Queenie’s behavior. He didn’t let it distract him from the task at hand and replied with a grin, “My grandmaster and I had a few drinks here yesterday. He must have liked what they served, so he decided this would be the place to meet today.”
Walter smiled, nodding. “In that case, I’ll have to give it a try myself.”
But as Queenie heard they were dining here, her fear intensified. She looked around at the other tables. On one side, a group of rowdy young men were hungrily devouring juicy, red meat. On the other side, elderly men with missing teeth chewed on greasy, fatty cuts, juices and oil dripping from their mouths.
A wave of nausea swept over Queenie. Her stomach turned, and she felt as if the milk she had drunk that morning might rise up again. Her pale face betrayed her discomfort.
Brian, noticing her unease, quickly made arrangements. He asked the restaurant owner to vacate a table for their use.
The restaurant owner, now visibly nervous, glanced at the luxury cars and bodyguards outside while wiping the table with a black rag. He couldn’t help but ask, “Mr. Tanner, who are these people?”
Brian smiled reassuringly. “This is Walter Watson, the richest man in Jonford.”
The owner, now visibly shaking, nearly knocked over the table in his surprise. The richest man in Jonford? In his tiny restaurant?
“We’ll have yesterday’s menu,” Brian continued, unfazed. “And don’t skimp on the wine.”
The restaurant owner, practically trembling with excitement, nodded frantically. “I’ll bring out the old wine my great-grandfather kept in the cellar.”
Brian led Walter to their seats, while Queenie, still unwilling to sit, glanced at the worn chair before her. After a brief moment, she reluctantly allowed the owner to bring a fresh chair. She covered it with paper towels before sitting down, her expression one of utter distaste.
The table, covered in grease, reflected the light, and Queenie couldn’t help but regret ever agreeing to come with her grandfather.
About ten minutes later, Nash finally arrived. Brian immediately rose to greet him. “Grandmaster…”
Nash, looking calm as ever, nodded and followed Brian to where Walter was waiting.