Chapter 271 Held as Hostage
Wyatt arrived at the Russell Group as expected.
With a fair and youthful appearance, he spoke politely and endeared himself to many of the employees. Since Josie was giving him a personal tour of the Russell Group office, people naturally became curious about his identity.
Who is this?
Josie handed Wyatt a glass of water in the pantry. “We’ll be working together from now on,” she said. “I hope we get along well.”
Wyatt, who was involved in venture capital, wasn’t part of the design department. He smiled warmly and accepted the cup from Josie. “Thank you, Josie,” he said.
Josie felt her heart race. “You can call me Ms. Warren. Let’s keep things professional in the office.”
Wyatt slowly nodded his head.
However, Josie would find a cup of hot coffee on her desk every day at the office.
Alice was also feeling confused. “It’s not me,” she said.
She decided to check the security footage and realized that it had been Wyatt all along.
The next day, she left a sticky note at her table that read, ‘I don’t drink coffee in the morning. Thank for the thought.
As expected, there wasn’t a cup of coffee on her table the next day.
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It was a hectic day in the meeting room. Josie and Wyatt were both present, and the project involving the residents of Althem City was assigned to Wyatt.
The receptionist burst into the room, her voice shaking. “Ms. Warren,” she stammered, “there’s someone here to see you.”
Josie remained collected, her gaze steady on the receptionist. “Who is it?” she asked calmly.
The receptionist shook her head, her eyes awash with conflicting emotions. “I’m not sure who he is,” she said, “but he was insistent on seeing you. He brought something a…”
Wyatt stepped out of the meeting room to see what was happening. Suddenly, people started screaming at the top of their lungs. The knife pointed at Wyatt, and Josie felt her whole body tense up in fear.
The receptionist faintly continued, “… a knife.”
Josie sensed something was wrong. She stood up and walked over to the door. As she got closer, she saw the person standing behind the knife.
A man in a leather jacket and jeans stood in the doorway, a cigarette dangling from his lips. His buzz cut was unkempt, and his face showed the wear and tear of a hard life. He looked like a rocker who had seen better days.
The man looked like a rocker at first glance, but the illusion was shattered when he opened his mouth. “Which one of you is Josie Warren?”
Wyatt had never seen such a crude man. The glint of the knife in his hand made her eyes water. She was too afraid to move.
As the air was thick with painful silence, Josie pulled Wyatt away. “I am,” she announced.
“F*ck!” He spat on the floor, then grabbed Josie’s collar with a bruising grip. The man’s knife hovered just inches from Josie’s neck. “Are you the one who wants to take away our home without paying us?”
He must be the family member of a homeowner in Althem City who was unwilling to sell their house.
Josie stared at him and, feigning indifference, uttered, “Are you Moses?”
She had looked through the details of every household. One of them had a son who went overseas to study at eighteen. He squandered his parents’ money by wandering around the city. Now that his family was in financial trouble, he finally returned.
Josie had a strong impression of him as he was a wanderer. He was a rare sight, a wanderer from a poor family.
Moses pressed the knife against her neck; his teeth clenched in anger. “Tell me what I should do now?” he growled.
A bloodcurdling scream pierced the air as someone spotted him in the building.
Wyatt felt his anxiety spike as he could hear his pulse throbbing in his ears. He dropped his phone on the floor and scrambled to pick it up. “Stay calm,” he said to Moses, trying to sound calm and collected. “How much do you want? We can pay you. Please don’t hurt her.”
Josie was close to him, and she noticed the glint in his eyes.
She glared at Wyatt. “I can handle this,” she said, her voice strong and determined. “Don’t tell your brother.”
Alice frowned, unable to follow her train of thought. “What do you mean? His knife is…”
