MEANWHILE, at the Wellington’s mansion, Francis and Benjamin Anderson, the eldest son of the Anderson Corporation, and would also be the next-in-line heir, sat on the couch as they held their beer mugs, sipping on it from time to time.

They were having the time of their lives at Francis’ mini-bar, which serves as a place where they could be wasted altogether, and at the same time, a meeting place where they talk about their wicked plans and harsh gossip.

“I should have been there, man!” Benjamin, who was still sober yet acted like he was drunk already, leaned on the couch as he grimaced. “I can’t believe I missed that remarkable moment at the party. Tch.”

Benjamin grunted. No matter how many times he watched the CCTV camera where Bruce’s havoc could be seen, he knew that it would give him a different feeling if only he was watching the scene personally.

“Stop complaining already. It’s done.” Francis shook his head and drank the remaining beer in his mug.

It seems like the beer doesn’t