By the next morning, old Mr. Williams had pretty much caught up on what happened last night.
He knew exactly what kind of trouble Jonathan Allen was.
Honestly, getting himself thrown in jail? Didn’t surprise him one bit.
And now, here were the Allens at his front door, bold as brass.
Did they really think he’d let his precious grandson bail out a menace like that?
Mr. Williams was still fuming, and it showed in every word he spoke—practically dripping with contempt.
The butler tried to smooth things over. “Sir, I did suggest they leave, but they’re insistent. They refuse to go.”
Just then, Dennis Williams put away his phone and spoke up, voice calm and even. “Let them in. I’m curious what they have to say.”
Of course, the moment Dennis opened his mouth, Mr. Williams’ frustration shifted straight to his grandson. “Curious? What’s there to be curious about? Why don’t you ever listen to me?”
Dennis just nodded, perfectly unruffled. “I’m listening, Grandpa.”
Mr. Williams shot him a glare. “Oh, you’re listening? Then why can’t I ever get a word in?”
It was obvious the old man’s temper was close to boiling over.
The butler, quick on the uptake, hurried off to let the Allens in. He had his own reasons—after all, better for Mr. Williams to vent his wrath on the Allens than anyone else in the house.
So when Mr. and Mrs. Allen stepped into the stately living room, they were greeted by Mr. Williams’ stone-cold expression and barely restrained fury.
“Well, well, what brings you here at the crack of dawn, Mr. Allen? To what do I owe the pleasure?” Mr. Williams’ tone was all frost and no welcome.
The Allens, of course, were here to plead for their son. But the moment they saw the look on Mr. Williams’ face, their nerves started to fray. Their eyes darted to Dennis, sitting aloof and distant—cool as a mountain in winter—and their confidence faltered even more.


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