Chapter 921
Trade Goods
Chapter 921 Trade Goods
The hotel room door was silently pushed open, and the vampire Glenn White slipped into the room like a shadow.
As soon as he turned around, he saw a wand pointed at his heart, and Glenn Wright immediately raised his hands.
“It’s me, Sera.”
“Remember to knock next time,” Abigail said coldly, putting away her wand.
"A reply came from over there."
Glenn White's voice was deep, carrying a hint of barely perceptible malice:
"Ms. Lightfoot asked us to meet at the top floor of the Watergate Building at 10 p.m. tomorrow night."
Abigail returned to the chair by the window and sat down, sipping her water casually, her posture showing no sign of relaxation.
“I understand,” she said. “For our first visit, Mr. Brolin, didn’t you allow us to bring any gifts? At least a handwritten letter of introduction would have been appreciated.”
“No need,” Glenwhite said. “Mr. Brolin has already reached an agreement with them. All we need to do is come and meet them.”
Abigail's expression shifted slightly, but she merely nodded and said nothing more.
A brief silence filled the room. Glenn White didn't leave; instead, he took a step forward, the faint scent of cologne mixed with a certain icy aura emanating from him.
"There's still a long time until tomorrow night."
He suggested, "I heard 'Bloody Sunset' at the bar downstairs is pretty good. Want to grab a drink? You've been cooped up in your New York base for a while now, haven't you?"
Abigail shook her head and said, "No need, I want to rest early. I need to conserve my energy and prepare for tomorrow's meeting."
"Don't be so nervous, girl."
Glenn White leaned closer, softening his tone, and urged:
"It's just a drink, it won't interfere with business. Besides... we might be able to talk. For example... haven't you asked me a few times how Khalil died?"
Abigail turned her head sharply, her gaze piercing Granwhite, but the vampire merely leaned down slightly, looking at her with a smile.
His seemingly gentle and considerate smile carried a sense of determination to win.
A fleeting struggle and gloom crossed Abigail's face, quickly replaced by a calm tinged with hesitation and compromise.
“…Okay.” She slowly stood up, her voice devoid of emotion. “Just one.”
Glenn White smiled triumphantly and gracefully gestured for him to enter.
Abigail lowered her eyes and was the first to leave the room.
……
The subwoofer shook the air, the colorful, flashing lights cut through the billowing smoke, and the dancing crowd, like swaying silhouettes in the dim light, emitted unrestrained shouts.
The lively atmosphere inside the bar was a stark contrast to the desolate night outside, filled with a sense of dangerous chaos.
Glenn White, carrying two glasses of deep red "Bloody Sunset," moved nimbly through the crowded streets.
As he put down his glass, he flicked his finger with lightning speed and without leaving a trace, and a pinch of powder fell into one of the glasses of wine, dissolving instantly and forming a few tiny bubbles.
Glenn White picked up another glass of wine and laughed, "Drink up! You've been so tense, I feel tired just looking at you!"
"For... a fresh start?" He raised his voice to drown out the music, a fake smile playing on his lips.
Abigail took the glass, glanced at the vampire, but didn't drink it immediately.
Glenwright understood, moved closer to Abigail, and began to recount the past that the other had forgotten:
“I took Caril to Hogwarts to help you with your mission…” In Glenwright’s opinion, there was nothing to hide about the past. He even told the embarrassing story of how he was once captured by Dumbledore.
“After that we parted ways. Caril was taken back to Hogwarts by Dumbledore, and I never saw him again.”
"The next news I heard about him was that both Byrd and you failed in your mission, and Caril was captured by the Aurors of the Ministry of Magic and is said to be sentenced."
"But not long after, news of his death spread—that's what Dumbledore told the Ministry of Magic, but it seems no one saw the boy's body..."
As she spoke of the past, Abigail's eyes filled with heavy sorrow and regret. She raised her glass and took a large gulp.
Glenn White was already hoarse from talking, and seeing this, he couldn't help but reveal a smug smile.
In less than five minutes, the woman next to him began to sway, her eyes glazed over, and her limbs went weak.
"I...I don't feel well..."
Abigail tried to stand up by holding onto the bar, but found that she couldn't even muster that much strength.
Glenn White caught her as she slid down, his arms cold but strong.
"Sera, you seem to be drunk. I'll take you back to your room to rest."
The man's voice seemed to carry a tender and affectionate tone.
Abigail struggled weakly for a moment, then closed her eyes and let her arms fall limply to her sides.
Glenn White easily lifted the unconscious Abigail into his arms, her long hair falling down in a swaying arc under the psychedelic lights.
He walked expressionlessly through the dancing crowd toward the bar exit.
It wasn't that no one around noticed what was happening.
Two drunkards leaning against the bar, their eyes glazed over, saw this. They exchanged a knowing glance and let out a flirtatious, suggestive whistle.
Glenn White smiled, his eyes narrowing, and carried the person out of the bar.
Instead of going upstairs to the hotel, he took the elevator down to the first floor.
Pushing open the heavy soundproof door, the street was almost deserted, with only two streetlights still flickering, and everything was pitch black.
The night wind howled, and across the street, a completely black van was parked quietly. There were no markings on the body, and the windows were tinted one-way glass, like a giant black dog lurking in the shadows.
Glenn White, carrying Abigail, walked straight to the car.
The moment he approached, the rear door of the carriage slid open silently, and two bodyguards jumped out first, looking around warily.
Glenn White carried Abigail into the cargo hold, and the door closed quietly behind him.
The carriage was filled with the cold smell of disinfectant and metal. After the doors closed, the light strips on both sides lit up.
A lean, lean man in a gray uniform sat on a long bench to the side, glanced at the unconscious woman, and asked:
"Is this what Brolin is trading for?"
"Yes."
Glenwright casually placed Abigail on the metal chair in the corner and rubbed his wrists.
He turned around and said in a more emphasizing tone, "Don't be fooled by the fact that there's only one person; this is top-quality merchandise."
The uniformed man said expressionlessly, "Oh?"
With just one byte, he miraculously conveyed a full degree of skepticism and an impolite inquiry.
(End of this chapter)