Chapter 492: Chapter 492

The Thomas Family Villa.

The study was thick with a suffocating tension.

"From San Francisco?"

"The person he’s looking for?"

A dark realization dawned in Mr. Thomas’s eyes as they narrowed imperceptibly.

Logan had already taken men to the hotel—how could that man have slipped away unnoticed?

But the Thomas family had immigrated to Country E nearly a century ago, with no business ties to San Francisco whatsoever.

If not him, then who?

The butler watched the storm of emotions flicker across Mr. Thomas’s face, a cold sweat breaking out down his spine.

"I’ll send him away at once."

His assistant turned to leave, eager to escape the oppressive atmosphere.

Mr. Thomas’s voice cut through the silence like ice.

Have him wait in the hall."

The butler hesitated for a split second before nodding and swiftly exiting the room.

Silence once again settled over the study.

Mr. Thomas narrowed his eyes, picked up his phone, and dialed a number.

"Sir." Logan’s voice came through the receiver, steady and composed.

"What’s the situation at the hotel?"

Mr. Thomas’s tone was icy, betraying no emotion.

"We’ve surrounded the entire perimeter.

No one gets in or out without our knowledge," Logan reported methodically.

"Our men are working on infiltrating the building to find any trace of Thomas."

Logan paused, waiting for further instructions.

Mr. Thomas’s expression darkened, but he remained silent.

Logan had been by his side for over two decades—meticulous, reliable.

For someone to slip past his watchful eyes unnoticed... that was no small feat.

Not to mention the audacity of coming directly to the Thomas family’s doorstep.

"Sir," Logan’s voice rang out again.

"Any additional instructions?"

"None," Mr. Thomas replied, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his eyes.

"Proceed as planned—with caution." "Understood!"

Meanwhile, in the living room of the Thomas family villa, a man stood with his hands clasped behind his back, gazing at a renowned masterpiece depicting the divine wonders of creation.

His impeccably tailored black suit clung flawlessly to his tall, statuesque frame, not a single crease in sight.

Even from behind, he exuded an air of aristocratic elegance and unshakable authority.

As Mr. Thomas descended the stairs at a measured pace, leaning on his cane, this was the sight that greeted him.

His steps faltered slightly, his eyes flashing with a trace of wariness.

At the sight of Mr.Thomas, the butler inwardly exhaled in relief.

The man finally arrived, exuding such an overwhelming presence that it made him distinctly uncomfortable.

Ramsey gave Mr. Thomas had an inscrutable glance but remained rooted in place without moving.

Mr. Thomas continued descending the steps, his footsteps measured.

Sinclair turned, his gaze settling on Mr. Thomas.

A faint, enigmatic smile played at the corners of his thin lips.

"President Thomas." His strikingly handsome face was flawless, as if carved from perfection.

Though standing right before him, he gave the impression of looking down from a higher vantage point.

Mr. Thomas prided himself on being a shrewd judge of character, yet upon truly seeing the man before him, a shadow flickered through his eyes.

This man was no ordinary fish in a pond. When he spoke again, his tone had noticeably softened, laced with cautious respect.

Sinclair’s lips curved slightly as he took a leisurely stride, settling onto a nearby sofa with effortless grace.

"President Thomas must be weary from the climb."

His dark, ink-like eyes lifted slightly, casting a fleeting glance at the cane Mr. Thomas leaned on.

"Perhaps we should sit down for this conversation."

Every movement he made carried an undeniable air of authority that demanded attention.

The butler’s heart skipped a beat.

It wasn’t just Sinclair’s audacity to take charge in someone else’s home—it was his words.

Mr. Thomas’s leg was a forbidden topic, something no one dared mention lightly, let alone to his face.

Even members of the three major families wouldn’t dare to be this disrespectful in front of the master.

This young man from San Francisco truly had the audacity of youth.

The butler shot Sinclair a glance, his brows furrowed in displeasure.

Mr. Thomas narrowed his eyes, studying the man who sat with effortless elegance and an undeniable aura.

His gaze turned sharp, but he remained silent.

Mr. Thomas didn’t want to admit it, yet he couldn’t deny it—despite being a formidable figure who had dominated the underworld for decades, he felt an oppressive pressure emanating from this young man before him.

The atmosphere grew increasingly tense.

Sinclair lifted his gaze, his dark eyes glinting with faint amusement as they settled on Mr.Thomas, who hadn’t moved.

"Does Mr. Thomas prefer standing?"

His tone dripped with undisguised superiority.

If his earlier words had been an unintentional slip due to ignorance, this was clearly deliberate provocation.

The butler was stunned by Sinclair’s brazen attitude, his face flushing with anger.

Before the words could fully leave his mouth Mr. Thomas raised a hand to silence him.

Have someone bring in a good cup of tea."

Even after all this, Mr. Thomas wasn’t having this man thrown out—instead, he was offering hospitality?

The butler’s face betrayed his confusion, but he knew better than to question his employer at a moment .

Leaning on his cane, Mr. Thomas took his time settling into the sofa across from Sinclair.

A shadowy smile crept onto his face.

"It’s been a while since I’ve dealt with anyone from San Francisco.

I had no idea the younger generation had grown so bold.

Quite the surprise, I must say."

His eyes narrowed slightly as he continued, his tone deceptively calm yet laced with something unreadable.

"And who might you be?

What brings you here?"

Sinclair twirled an obsidian jade ring between his long, pale fingers, his handsome face wearing an unflappable, icy smile.

"You sent men to surround my hotel, yet you don’t know who I am?"

His voice was smooth, almost mocking.

"Now that *is* surprising."

Mr.Thomas’s suspicions were confirmed.

His expression darkened further, his gaze sharpening with a dangerous glint.

Mr. Thomas had risen from the underworld, and the aura around him wasn’t something ordinary people could withstand—let alone when he was clearly simmering with anger.

Yet Sinclair remained as composed as ever, his expression unreadable.

It was obvious he didn’t care about Mr.Thomas’s fury.

Or rather, he didn’t care about Mr. Thomas at all. The butler entered with a freshly brewed cups of tea.

"Sir, your tea," he said, placing the tray on the coffee table between them.

The butler poured a cup for Mr. Thomas and another for Sinclair before retreating silently behind Mr. Thomas.

Mr.Thomas’s face was dark, his hands unmoving.

Sinclair, however, reached for his cup, took a slow sip, and let a faint smile touch his lips.

Every movement was deliberate, effortless, exuding an indescribable air of aristocratic grace.

Mr. Thomas’s icy gaze bore into him as he cut straight to the point.

"My son—he’s in your hands?"

His voice was frigid, the pressure in the room thickening instantly.

"Of course," Sinclair crossed his long legs, his inscrutable dark eyes resting coolly on Mr.Thomas

"Otherwise, I wouldn’t have bothered coming here."

The butler’s pupils contracted sharply, his entire body tensing with sudden vigilance.

Mr. Thomas’s temper flared, the fury in his chest nearly boiling over—but the thought of his son Thomas still in the other man’s grasp forced him to rein it in.

"May I ask how my son has offended you?"

Sinclair’s indifferent gaze lingered on Mr.Thomas

"You’ve got it backward, Mr. Thomas.

The question is, how has he wronged *me*?"

Mr. Thomas pressed his lips together, recalling the report from Logan —how Thomas had gathered men, plotting to eliminate this San Francisco rival.