Chapter 2027

Naturally, the Skull Club had no problem working with Donald. Their feud was with his father several
decades ago, not the son. Better yet, Donald loved raining money–he simply favored power more than
wealth. If burning a hole through his wallet meant making friends in high places, then he would go
through with that without batting an eye.

There was truth to his method. Had he been even a little more frugal, his entertainment business would
have never flown this ligh. Who was the Skull Club to refuse his overgenerous offer of money?

The Skull Club‘s assistance and his identity as Matthews Sr.‘s son allowed him to run to the Eastern
Islands. There, he revealed who he was instead of lying low–to secure a haven. As long as he
remained within the Islands, the police would be powerless to catch him.

Nollace flashed a perfunctory smile. “You didn‘t help him?”

Sunny set his cup on the table. “I helped Matthews Sr. because he‘s a greedy pig at worst. He was
never a murderer. He never killed anyone for money in his entire life. But Donald‘s made of different
stuff, I heard. He‘s a madman who escaped prison, at the very least. Letting him stay on my island is
akin to planting a ticking bomb next to my pillow.”

There was a conspicuous, seconds–long pause. Sunny considered Nollace thoughtfully.

“And I refuse to permit your stay, either. I know who you are. Donald went to prison because of you.”

Every media outlet in Yaramoor had reported Nollace as the man who sent Donald to prison, so the
former‘s role was never a secret. No one should be surprised that Sunny knew. “Why?” Nollace asked,
smiling. “Are you afraid of the storms that might happen?” Sunny deadpanned. “I‘m not afraid of
storms. But it doesn‘t mean I’m a fan of chasing after them, either.”



Nollace fidgeted with his empty cup. “You and Fabio seem to be playing nice with one another in the
islands, but it‘s all a farce. Still water belies dangers, doesn‘t it? Putting two kings in the same land is
like storing gunpowder next to a furnace.” Sunny‘s eyelids flicked open, and he glared at him.

Nollace met his gaze with an even keel. He was not going to lose to psychological warfare. A long
silence passed. Sunny narrowed his eyes before letting out a laugh. “Not bad, Mr. Knowles. You knew
all about the Islands‘ politics despite having only just arrived.”

“Fabio Puzo had been scheming from his den in the southwestern peninsula. He had been
manipulating unions and business guilds, controlling ports and harbors. There is no way a man like that
would let you live free, out of his surveillance. He speaks of a desire for peace, Mr. Southern, but in the
shadow, he acts in accordance with war. He rallies as much support from the land as he can, slowly
gnawing away at your power to grow slowly. “You refused to grant Donald sanctuary back then
because you already knew that the Skull Club had joined Fabio‘s alliance. Donald is not a guy you can
trust to have by your side,” analyzed Nollace.

He played around with his cup and broke out a smile. “If Donald manages to amass his powers again,
and if he manages to gain the Orasian gangs‘ support, do you think he‘ll overlook that

time you turned him away when he sought your help?” Sunny was a little perplexed. “I doubt he‘s
capable of giving Fabio what he wants.” “Fabio‘s eyes are set on the political stage, Mr. Southern. Just
because Donald‘s a lame–duck right now doesn‘t mean he automatically lost his old political
connections, does it?” All Donald had to do was introduce his powerful friends to Fabio, and the rest
would fall into place. Shared interests could make all kinds of bedfellows, after all.

Sunny was quiet. Nollace poured a new cup of tea for him. “Besides, after knowing who Cameron really
is, I think you‘ll find permitting my stay a more favorable option.” Sunny gripped his cup tightly. His



brows furrowed. “Are you threatening me?” “No,” said Nollace, beckoning toward the refilled cup.
“Donald is my only goal. I don‘t intend to trouble you and your family with collateral damage.” 1

Sandy stood by the pier the next day with a shawl covering half of her face. Anxious, she was waiting
for the aid Donald had promised her.

A few moments later, an ocean liner moored sluggishly at the pier. Two palpably Orasian men
emerged, their heads turning as though they were searching for someone. Sandy dragged her luggage
behind her and approached the men immediately. “Did Donald Matthews send you?”

The men exchanged glances.

“Mrs. Pruitt?”

“That‘s me,” she replied hastily, smiling and lifting her luggage. “Finally. You two came.”

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