The deputy general manager of the branch—Owen Gray.
Claire had suspected there might be someone on the inside, but she never thought it’d be him.
“Tsk, that's a bit much, tying up our delicate little Miss Richards like this.”
His voice was full of mock pity as he sauntered in, shut the door behind him, and flicked on the light—a dusty old bulb covered in cobwebs that barely lit up the place.
Now with some light, Claire finally got a good look at the room.
Old couch, dining table, and TV stand—it looked like a relic of a once-livable living room.
Everything was blanketed in thick dust and cobwebs. Clearly, no one had been here in years.
She drew her gaze back and locked eyes with Owen, her glare frosty and sharp.
“Well, look at you. Got some fire in those pretty ey
