In Mary’s villa at three o'clock in the afternoon, Mrs. Wilson was watering the flowers in the yard when two to three black Mercedes-Benz stopped at the gate.

Several bodyguards got out of the car, walked to the Benz in the center, and quickly opened the door.

A well-dressed middle-aged man habitually leaned on a cane and came out.

Following closely behind was an extravagant-looking middle-aged lady. After she got out of the car, she glanced at the villa with deep disdain in her eyes.

"It seems that your daughter is doing well in Coast City. She can even buy a villa!"

There was a strong northwest accent in her voice. Her face was full of arrogance.

The middle-aged man's face was stern, with an air of solemn and prestige.

This was Dorian Claymore, the leader of Claymore Group, the largest consortium in Southwest Somerland. The middle-aged lady beside him was his wife, Shaylene Lambert.

The accompanying assistant immediately approached Dorian respectfully. "Mr. Claymore, the addr