Maxwell Saxon curled his lips into a smile but remained silent.
His gaze was extremely cold, and his expression was as frosty as ice. Yet, he smiled, making the smile appear exceptionally eerie, even more terrifying than when he wasn't smiling.
Even though he didn't mention anything, this smile made Uncle Thompson inexplicably feel guilty.
The guilt was so intense that he didn't dare to meet Maxwell's gaze.
"Young Master, should you go over immediately?" The cold and sharp gaze still lingered on his face, becoming increasingly cold and oppressive.
It's incredibly difficult to lie under such a gaze while maintaining composure.
Cold sweat broke out on Uncle Thompson's forehead, but he didn't dare to wipe it away.
Large beads of sweat rolled down from his temple.
"Uncle Thompson, you're right. I should go over immediately and have them search more thoroughly." As more cold sweat appeared on Uncle Thompson's forehead, Maxwell finally spoke.
