Meanwhile.
"President Luther, there's movement in the suburbs."
"Mr. Luther"
The mercenary with a scar curling at the corner of his mouth looked up from the computer screen, his voice steady and factual.
"Assistant Ramsey just reported movement in the suburbs."
Sinclair crossed his long legs, his immaculately tailored black suit accentuating his aristocratic poise and inscrutable demeanor.
Between his slender, well-defined fingers, he idly twisted a chestnut-brown hair tie.
His striking features—chiseled yet softened by the downward cast of his eyes—gave him an air of deceptive tranquility.
"Margaret?"
"Yes."
The scarred mercenary dipped his chin in confirmation.
"This time, their primary target is you."
He hesitated only a fraction before continuing.
"Assistant Ramsey has men tracking them every step of the way.
They're just waiting for your orders."
"Ensure the safety of grandpa and Camilla."
