Chapter 391: Chapter 391: No Time
At this point, not only Keith Donovan, but even someone as composed as Tristan Hawthorne showed a bit of astonishment on his face.
"You, what are you going to do?" Keith Donovan could hardly believe his ears, "Brother, that’s Summer Monroe, Felix Ford’s widow. Even if the Ford siblings don’t appreciate her now, the assets under her name are no joke!"
James Grant let out a cold scoff, "I obviously know that, but Summer Monroe has crossed my line too many times. Do you think I can tolerate that?"
His words caused both of them to cough awkwardly.
They all knew how infatuated Summer Monroe was with James Grant before, so mentioning it now was somewhat embarrassing.
Tristan Hawthorne came out to smooth things over: "Alright, alright, let’s not talk about that. What do you mean? What do you plan to do?"
"Summer Monroe has quite a few private assets, and there are also plenty that the Ford siblings don’t know about." James Grant sneered, a sharp glint in his long, narrow eyes, "Even if they were swallowed up, she can only suffer in silence."
Tristan Hawthorne had a sudden insight, "Wait, when the Ford family’s eldest daughter returned to the country, was that your doing?"
James Grant raised his eyebrows slightly, neither admitting nor denying it, but his attitude was clear.
"Impressive," Tristan Hawthorne chuckled, "Was it really you?"
James Grant replied indifferently, "Just going with the flow. Violet Ford had originally intended to return, I just sped it up a bit. Officially, I’m not familiar with her and haven’t spoken much with her."
Keith Donovan was completely confused by their conversation: "What are you two talking about?"
"Nothing." James Grant downed his drink in one go, clenching his back teeth, his eyes growing more piercing, "Summer Monroe’s assets, I’ve got them secured."
Seeing James Grant’s determination, being good friends, the two didn’t say any more, only wished him success.
While they were chatting, James Grant’s phone suddenly rang.
The caller was Quentin Hale.
James Grant answered, somewhat impatiently, "What’s the matter?"
Quentin Hale’s tone was grave.
"Just now, Director Yates’ secretary called, saying Director Yates and Mrs. Yates want to meet you."
James Grant sneered, coldly replied, "No time."
Then directly hung up the phone.
Keith Donovan and Tristan Hawthorne both looked at James Grant with slight astonishment.
"You’ll really not meet them?" Keith Donovan clicked his tongue twice, pouring James Grant a drink, "Brother, you’re honestly the guy I’ve seen with the toughest attitude towards a future father-in-law."
James Grant couldn’t be bothered to reply to him, finishing his drink before standing up to leave.
"I’m leaving, let’s meet up another day."
Keith Donovan quickly stood up: "Leaving already? Can’t you stay a bit longer?"
James Grant waved his hand, striding away.
Back in the car, the driver asked him where to go, and James Grant, lost in thought for a moment, gave an address.
The driver paused slightly, then said with some difficulty, "Director Grant, are you sure..."
That was Miss Clayton’s residence.
Going there at this sensitive time, if someone found out, wouldn’t it just add fuel to the fire?
The eldest Grant son leaving the Grant Family, not meeting his fiancée, but rather meeting a former rumored girlfriend, if someone photographed it...
The driver could already imagine what the headline would be tomorrow.
James Grant didn’t make a sound, just rolled down the window.
As the cold wind brushed his face, looking out at the night scene, James Grant felt a bit more clear-headed.
Indeed, now was not the right time to meet her.
He was about to instruct the driver to return to his apartment when the phone rang again.
This time it was Lynn Yates.
Since the incident, James Grant hadn’t been answering calls from everywhere. He had just turned on his phone for a while at night, and the mountain of missed calls hurt his eyes.
Seeing it was Lynn Yates this time made him even more agitated.
But after hesitating for a while, James Grant still answered.
"James Grant." Lynn Yates’s voice was as cold as ice and snow, "Where are you?"