Chapter 93 The Art Of Selective Helplessness

Gideon scoffed, eyeing the wrecked car with disdain. "I don't drive junk. My ride's custom." He launched into a monologue about the reinforced doors, the aerospace-grade materials, the months he'd spent picking the perfect finish.

Then, with a casual flick of his wrist, he pulled out his phone, tapped a few buttons, and tossed a number at Winston. The amount? Enough to buy two Bugattis.

"Might be