Chapter 493: Chapter 493

"Whatever conflicts exist between you," Mr. Thomas, after decades entrenched in the underworld, was a man who ruled with an iron fist. Compromise wasn’t in his nature.

"The one who struck first was you," Mr. Thomas paused deliberately, letting the weight of his words press down like a suffocating fog before continuing.

"However, I, Mr. Thomas, am not an unreasonable man.

Release my son, offer him a sincere apology, and I’m willing to let bygones be bygones.

Consider this matter settled." With that, he lowered his gaze and took a slow, deliberate sip of tea, his eyes darkening imperceptibly.

Mr. Thomas was willing to let it go.

But if Thomas sought revenge... well, that was beyond his control.

His son had intended to strike first—only to be outmaneuvered.

And yet, the other party was at fault? An apology?

Ramsey watched Mr. Thomas’s righteous act with icy disdain.

We Americans really are too polite.

This was sheer shamelessness in its purest form.

Sinclair’s sharp, obsidian eyes narrowed slightly, his expression as unreadable as still water.

"I’d be happy to apologize to your son."

At least he knows his place.

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of Mr. Thomas’s lips as he set down his teacup, about to speak.

Sinclair’s gaze remained steady on Mr. Thomas, his thin lips curling into a careless smile.

"I’m afraid he won’t be able to handle it."

The sudden twist caught even a seasoned fox like Mr. Thomas off guard, his expression flickering with surprise.

"Young man, that’s quite the bold claim," Mr. Thomas said, his eyes lingering on Sinclair’s godlike Eastern features before he let out a cold, mocking laugh.

Mr. Thomas slammed his cup onto the table with a sharp crack, tea splashing over the edge.

"Since you’ve come knocking on my door, you must know the status and power of the Thomas family.

Aren’t you afraid you won’t walk out of here alive after saying something like that?"

Though his tone carried amusement, the underlying threat was unmistakable.

Even a mighty dragon struggles to crush a snake in its own lair—let alone some wet-behind-the-ears brat.

Sinclair’s smile deepened as he leaned back into the sofa, his posture relaxed.

"In all these years, you’re the first to ask me that."

His dark eyes gleamed with intrigue.

"Now this is interesting."

Mr. Thomas hadn’t expected that even at this point, the young man before him would still regard him with such utter indifference.

There could only be two explanations.

First, he was a reckless fool, too green to know the stakes.

Or second—he had powerful backing and the arrogance to match.

Mr. Thomas studied Sinclair with a stormy expression, weighing the possibilities.

A strange unease crept into his chest.

"We’ve been talking for so long, yet I forgot to introduce myself," Sinclair said, his voice unhurried and cool.

His narrow, obsidian-dark eyes were like fathomless pools, revealing nothing.

Of the Luther Family in San Francisco."

His tone was icy, impossible to read.

The Luther Family of San Francisco—Sinclair?!

Mr. Thomas’s pupils contracted in shock, his face twisting with disbelief.

Though he rarely dealt with San Francisco’s elite, even he had heard that name.

To be more precise, Anyone involved in the global business arena would recognize this name. —

The head of the Luther Family, a figure standing at the very pinnacle of the pyramid.

The uncrowned king of commerce in San Francisco.

"President Thomas," Ramsey stepped forward and placed a sleek black business card embossed in gold on the table before Mr. Thomas.

Luther Corporation. Sinclair.

No titles, no additional descriptors. His name alone said it all—no title could ever encapsulate his stature.

How on earth did Thomas manage to offend someone like him?!

Mr. Thomas felt the weight of the card in his hand, its presence burning like hot coal.

The butler observed his employer’s ashen expression, confusion flickering across his face.

What had come over Mr. Thomas?

Who was this young man with the name Sinclair Luther to inspire such dread?

Sinclair, seemingly oblivious to Mr. Thomas’s reaction, merely curved his lips into a faint smile and reached for the teapot.

Before his fingers could touch the teapot, another hand intercepted it.

"How could we let President Luther pour his own tea?

Allow me," Mr. Thomas said, his demeanor completely transformed as he rose to his feet.

Mr. Thomas refilled Sinclair’s cup with practice ease before presenting it respectfully with both hands.

"My foolish son failed to recognize Mr. Luther standing before him and offended you, President Luther," Mr. Thomas continued, his voice laced with forced humility.

Mr. Thomas poured another cup of tea and offered it again, his posture stiff with reluctant deference.

"I sincerely apologize on his behalf. I beg you to be magnanimous and spare his life."

The humiliation of bowing to a younger man twisted Mr. Thomas’s expression, but what choice did he have?

His son had crossed the one person he couldn’t afford to offend.

The butler stood frozen, eyes wide.

In all his years serving the Thomas family, he had never seen his employer show such deference to anyone.

Instantly, he understood—this young man commanded a status beyond ordinary measure.

At the very least, his influence rivaled that of the three great families.

Ramsey remained expressionless, having anticipated Mr. Thomas’s groveling from the start.

His lips curled in an enigmatic half-smile, his piercing gaze fixed on Mr.Thomas in silent amusement.

Sinclair said nothing.

Mr. Thomas felt the teacup in his hand grow impossibly heavy, his fingers trembling under its weight.

"When my son returns, I’ll make sure he kneels to apologize to you personally."

Forcing the Thomas family heir to kneel in apology was tantamount to laying the Thomas family’s dignity at Sinclair’s feet.

"You’re too kind, Mr. Thomas."

A faint smirk curled at the corner of Sinclair’s lips as he accepted the offered tea with one hand.

Seeing him take the cup, Mr. Thomas exhaled in quiet relief and sank back into the sofa.

Sinclair swirled the pale green tea lightly, watching the liquid ripple before setting it aside without so much as a sip.

Was this a sign that he had no intention of letting Thomas off the hook?

That simple gesture sent Mr. Thomas’s heart lurching back into his throat. Of course.

A man like Sinclair wouldn’t make a personal visit just to leave empty-handed.

"What would it take for you to spare my son, Mr. Luther?"

"You flatter me, Mr. Thomas."

Sinclair’s striking features remained impassive, but a frosty amusement glinted in his dark eyes, veiled like thin silk.

"Truth be told, this matter isn’t entirely your son’s fault."

His voice was slow and low, yet carried an unmistakable undertone.

"Thomas was just acting as someone else’s pawn."

Mr. Thomas pressed his lips together.

Who could possibly wield enough influence to use his son against Sinclair?

A man of sharp intellect, he pieced it together in mere moments—Thomas had been manipulated.

"May I ask, President Luther, who exactly my son was trying to avenge that led him to offend you?"

"There aren’t many in this City who could command your son’s eager service," Sinclair replied, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips.

"You’re an astute man, Mr. Thomas.

It shouldn’t be hard to guess."

Mr. Thomas fell silent for a long moment.

His son, though lacking in business acumen, was desperate to prove himself in the corporate world.

That very ambition had led him to ingratiate himself with the likes of the Harrison family and their inner circle.

Mr. Thomas had known—and even considered it beneficial, which was why he’d turned a blind eye.

"Harrison," he finally said.

"Harrison is the one who has a grudge against you?"