“Mr. Scott!” Phillips rushed to Eric’s side and pulled him back in haste. “You need to go. Mr. Flynn’s not thinking straight right now. Give him space before trying to reason with him.”
Trying to make Eric understand, he added, “His mind is only on Elissa. Nothing you say will reach him at this point.”
A flicker of disbelief crossed Eric’s face, but it vanished just as quickly. Deep down, he knew Phillips had a point.
“Fine… I’ll leave for now. Ernest, I’ll return when you’ve cooled off.” Eric’s voice was low, resigned.
Without wasting another second, Phillips stepped beside him and insisted, “We’re leaving. Now.”
Their eyes met briefly—Phillips and Quentin shared an unspoken understanding. While Quentin kept Ernest restrained, Phillips didn’t hesitate to escort Eric out of the room.
Just outside Flynn Mansion, Eric slid into the car without a word.
Phillips reached over and handed him a box of tissues. “Here, Mr. Scott. Clean yourself up a bit.” A quiet sigh followed. “If you walk into the house looking like that, Hadley’s going to panic.”
“I’ll be alright.” Eric dabbed at the blood near his mouth, brushing it away with little concern. “It’s nothing serious.”
After a brief pause, he turned to Phillips and asked, “Have you heard anything about Gifford?”
“Still no updates.” Phillips shook his head.
A bitter smile tugged at Eric’s lips. Just as he thought.
They had only recently joined forces—he and Ernest, finally cornering Gifford. And not long after that, Elissa had been hit by a car.
Now Gifford had disappeared, leaving nothing behind—not even a lead. That alone made his involvement almost certain.
“Mr. Scott, we just confirmed that Ayla was in recent contact with Bianca,” Phillips said, relaying the newest intel.
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No further explanation was needed. Everything pointed back to Gifford.
Gifford’s strategy had been brutal and calculated. Instead of going after Elissa directly, he used Ayla as a shield, hurting Ernest and driving a wedge between Ernest and Eric in the process.
A sharp breath escaped Eric as he pressed a hand against his bruised jaw. The sting reminded him just how far this had gone.
Without hesitation, he faced Phillips. “Track him down. I don’t care how. Just bring me Gifford.”
“Understood, Mr. Scott.”
Without another word, Eric leaned back into the seat, eyes fixed on nothing in particular. He couldn’t afford to let this go—not for Ernest, and not for himself. Gifford had to be found.
There was no limit to Gifford’s deception. If they didn’t stop him soon, he would remain a constant threat. He had already targeted Elissa. Sooner or later, Hadley or even Joy might become his next targets.
.
.
.