The Luther Family ancestral home.
Two armed factions stood in a tense standoff, guns pointed at each other, the air thick with impending violence.
Yet upon closer inspection, it was clear that the defenders of the Luther mansion were outnumbered and outgunned—caught completely off guard.
"Samson," Uncle Carlos's gaze cut through the barrel of the gun pressed against his forehead, locking onto Samson.
"Grandpa has always treated you well."
"And I've returned the favor," Samson smirked, his expression oozing smug malice.
"Otherwise, I wouldn't have rushed here in the rain to bid grandpa farewell—just in time for his final moments."
Uncle Carlos's face darkened with fury, his lips parting to retort—
But before he could speak, a cold-eyed man stepped forward from behind Samson.
"Mr. Samson," the man said, his voice low and ominous as he stared at Uncle Carlos.
"Enough delays.
We have more pressing matters to attend to."
