Chapter 338: Kill Me!

Frederick's eyes were bloodshot, blazing with dangerous fury. In an instant, he crossed the room and pressed his gun against Antony's forehead. Something about Antony's words had ignited a suffocating rage that surged up his throat, choking him.

“What? Are you going to kill me? Go ahead, do it!” Antony shouted, his face twisted in anguish, as if he had already lost the will to live.

“General Hawthorne, please, think this through! This is a make-or-break moment; there’s no room for error. Remember, Mr. Arthur Hawthorne is watching your every move.”

Richard could see the murderous intent in Frederick's gaze. At that very moment, Frederick seemed ready to shoot Antony at any minute. Without thinking, Richard lunged forward, desperate to stop the impending disaster.

Yet, Frederick's eyes brimmed with a fierce, murderous intent. He looked like a wild beast that had lost all reason, ready to tear everything apart with a single swipe of his hand.

Finally, with a snarl of frustration, Frederick pulled the gun away.

“Aren’t you worried about Claire? Don’t you want to find her? Well, you can have it!” He yelled, gesturing to his men. “Lock him up in the basement too.”

With a resounding bang, he slammed the gun onto the table as his men dragged Antony toward the same basement where Claire had been imprisoned.

“General Hawthorne, do you really…”

When Richard caught wind of Frederick’s intent to confine Antony, a surge of urgency propelled him forward, ready to intervene once more. Frederick lifted his gaze, his eyes piercing the air with an icy chill as they met Richard’s. Under that frigid stare, Richard halted mid-step, the words he was about to spill catching in his throat.

Richard knew all too well that in times gone by, if anyone had dared to provoke Frederick in such a manner, Frederick would have shot them. Now, however, with the presidential campaign at a pivotal juncture, Frederick restrained himself. He stepped back to avoid stirring up trouble that could derail his ambitions.

Frederick stood at the precipice of his patience, feeling as though he had reached the uttermost limit of what he could possibly bear.

“Just lock him up in the basement,” Richard muttered. “As long as nobody dies, we’re in the clear. Even if word gets out, it won’t blow up into anything significant. After all, it was Antony who stormed up to the manor looking for trouble.”

In the basement, Claire sat on the floor, her mind racing as she pieced together the day’s events from the moment the door had clicked shut behind her. She analyzed every detail and every possible escape route.

Luckily, Frederick hadn’t taken her cell phone. If things reached a breaking point, she could still call Elizabeth for help.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps and voices. Catching sight of Antony, she recalled she had been on the phone with him when Frederick kicked open the door.

She shouted, “Antony!” She sprang to her feet, grabbing the iron bars that separated them.

“Clai! Thank God, you’re okay.” Antony breathed a sigh of relief, his own tension melting away at the sight of her.

One of Frederick’s men barked, shoving Antony toward the far corner of the basement. Antony quickened his pace, declaring, “I’ll explain everything later.”

Within moments, Antony was locked in a separate basement not too far from Claire. The two basements were nearly identical. They were enclosed not by walls or doors but by stark iron fences. The only way in or out was through a combination lock at the iron gate. There was no way for the person inside to enter the password; only someone outside could unlock it.

Claire was no stranger to the basement. She had been there before, when she first moved into the Halfmoon Manor. However, the basement she found herself in now was starkly different from the one she had known at the Halfmoon Manor. That previous basement was merely a typical storage space beneath a home, unremarkable and utilitarian. No, this place felt more like a prison cell, one that Frederick’s army would use to hold spies, terrorists, or prisoners. Yet, in a manor of this grandeur and scale, it was entirely normal to have multiple basements, each isolated from the other.

At this very moment, the most pressing concern was the fact that Antony had also been confined.

Once Frederick’s men had secured Antony in the adjacent basement and departed, Claire hastily asked, “Antony, did you rush over because you heard something on the phone?”

Antony nodded and replied, “Yeah, I heard the commotion from your side. I knew something was wrong. I tried calling you several times, but you didn’t answer. I couldn’t just sit around and wait. I was so anxious that I came straight to the manor.”

Claire frowned, confusion clouding her mind. “You called several times? But how come I didn’t see…” She reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. Her heart sank as she pressed the power button. Her phone had run out of battery. The screen remained stubbornly black.

Overwhelmed by the situation, she felt herself sinking into the depths of despair. They are so doomed.