Rebirth Swapped Bride; Married to the Ruthless Cursed Billionaire-Chapter 224: You are a smart man

"I can only say this much."

Grandpa Porter accepted the teacup offered by Bryan, his sharp gaze lingering meaningfully on Samson.

"Whether it’s them or not—you already know the answer."

His words carried an unmistakable implication, a tacit admission.

Samson’s expression darkened, his eyes narrowing with suspicion as he studied the elder.

"...Why are you telling me this?"

He didn’t believe for a second that a man like Grandpa Porter would suddenly take pity and reveal the truth.

Without understanding the motive behind it, he dared not reveal his stance.

"Why?"

Grandpa’s piercing eyes crinkled slightly, his gaze deepening like a bottomless well.

"Because Sinclair is dead."

He set down his cup deliberately, his voice slow and icy.

"The winds of San Francisco are shifting."

Samson’s heart lurched.

His pupils contracted, then dilated in shock—his face a mask of disbelief.

"What... what did you say?

Who’s dead?!"

Grandpa Porter turned his gaze to Bryan but remained silent.

Bryan pulled out the footage of Sinclair’s car accident and handed it to Samson.

Samson’s lips pressed into a tight line as he watched the video over and over again.

From the moment Sinclair got into the car to the collision and explosion—the scene replayed relentlessly before his eyes.

Even with the undeniable evidence right in front of him, Samson still couldn’t shake the surreal feeling.

Deep down, he had always believed that no matter who died, that ruthless man Sinclair would never be the one to fall.

"Convinced now?"

Samson wasn’t a fool.

With Grandpa Porter speaking to this extent, he could clearly see the man’s intentions.

"You want me to help you take down the Luther Family’s main branch?"

"No," grandpa Porter shook his head, his deceptively gentle eyes unfathomable.

"I’m helping you."

He lowered his head, idly stirring the tea leaves in his cup before continuing,

"Don’t forget—your father was murdered by them."

"Besides, I’m not a Luther by blood.

If the Luther Family’s main lineage falls, you stand to gain far more than an outsider like me."

The room fell into a deathly silence at these words.

"But I thought you were always on good terms with the grandpa Luther?"

Samson stared at Grandpa Porter, his brows knitted tightly.

"Why would you do this?"

"Precisely because of my close friendship with grandpa Luther," grandpa Porter replied, his sharp eyes missing none of Samson’s shifting expressions.

His face grew colder, his gaze inscrutable.

"That’s why I waited until he was down before moving against the Luther Family’s main line."

It was true.

If the Luther Family’s main lineage truly collapsed, not only would he avenge his father, but he could also reap substantial benefits.

But if this fails...

Given the Luther Family patriarch’s ruthless methods, none of his family members would escape unscathed.

A flicker of apprehension crossed Samson’s eyes.

Without absolute certainty, it was better not to act rashly.

"Thank you for your confidence in me, grandpa Porter," he said carefully.

"But my abilities are modest, and I’d rather not meddle in such weighty matters."

Having made up his mind, Samson rose to his feet and offered an ingratiating smile to Grandpa Porter.

"As for the engagement banquet, I’ll come another day to personally apologize," he said hurriedly.

Before the words had fully left his mouth, he gave a slight bow and turned to leave.

Then, grandpa Porter’s icy voice cut through the air from behind.

"Stop right there—"

Samson froze mid-step, his expression shifting as he slowly turned back.

The moment he saw Bryan’s pistol aimed squarely at him, all color drained from his face, leaving him deathly pale.

"Grandpa Porter, wh-what is the meaning of this?" he stammered.

A sudden realization struck him, and he hastily added,

"Please, rest assured—I came only to apologize today.

I heard nothing, I know nothing."

"In my eyes, there are only two kinds of people who can keep secrets," Grandpa Porter’s tone was as calm as ever, but the weight in his gaze could crush bones.

"Allies sworn to the same cause... and the dead."

His eyes darkened like gathering storm clouds.

"You’re a smart man.

You should know what choice to make."

Cooperate or die?

Samson froze in place, watching as Bryan cocked the gun with chilling precision.

His pupils trembled slightly, fingers clenching and unclenching at his sides.

"What... what would you have me do?"

The Calvin Family Manor.

Half an hour later, Camilla emerged from the room.

"Madam Luther,"

Jey, who had been waiting anxiously by the door, regarded her with tense apprehension.

"Did you save him?"

Jey pressed his lips tightly together, his anxious gaze fixed on Camilla.

After all, they had worked side by side for years, and it was his orders that had sent the man inside to deliver food—only for him to fall victim.

No one felt more worried or guilty than he did.

Calvin stubbed out his cigarette, uncharacteristically refraining from scolding Jey.

His narrowed eyes flickered as he stepped closer.

"How is he?"

His question wasn’t just about whether his subordinate had survived—it was also about the nature of the threat.

If it was too dangerous, he couldn’t let Camilla go in.

Under the weight of their stares, Camilla spoke softly.

"Don’t worry. Most of the toxins have been cleared."

"With proper care, he’ll recover soon."

"Thank goodness," Jey exhaled deeply, relief washing over him.

"Thank you."

"It’s nothing."

Camilla turned her icy gaze toward Calvin, her beautiful eyes brimming with cold intensity.

"Did you prepare what I asked for?"

Calvin gave a slight nod.

Jey immediately handed the items by his side to Camilla.

After a quick inspection, she tucked them away without a word.

"Take me to see him."

Understanding her meaning, Calvin nodded again and glanced at Jey.

"Bring a few sets of protective suits."

"Right away!"

Jey’s expression instantly turned grave.

After changing into the specialized gear, the group arrived before the entrance of the underground vault beneath the Calvin estate.

Jey first used his fingerprint to unlock the first heavy door—its material indistinguishable—which slid open on both sides.

The three stepped inside.

A few paces later, they encountered another door, this one requiring retinal scanning for verification.

"Your security here..."

Camilla examined the high-tech equipment before her and remarked sincerely,

"This reminds me of those spy dungeons from American TV shows—way more professional than Sinclair’s setup."

"I don’t have Sinclair’s skills, so I have to rely on money instead," Calvin gave a wry smile, his expression tinged with resignation.

"Besides, the guy inside is far more dangerous than any so-called spy."

As he spoke, his gaze turned noticeably colder.

"I lost quite a few men trying to catch him.

Can’t afford to be careless now."

Camilla nodded in understanding.

By now, she had some idea of just how formidable a curse master could be.

After passing through several doors, each requiring different authentication methods, they finally reached their destination— a sealed, cage-like room.

Outside stood over a dozen mercenaries clad in specialized gear, weapons at the ready.

The sheer scale of the security spoke volumes about the threat level of the prisoner inside.

Yet Camilla’s expression remained unchanged.

For Sinclair, she’d walk through fire and brimstone without hesitation.

"Beep—" The door slid open, and Jey stepped in first.

Calvin and Camilla followed closely behind.

Chained to the far wall with reinforced shackles was a disheveled, wiry middle-aged man.

At the sound of their entrance, he slowly lifted his head.

His face was grotesque, twisted with malice.

Those murky eyes gleamed like a serpent’s,

sending chills down the spine.

"So you’ve finally come," he rasped, the words scraping out like gravel from his throat.