Nanson sat back, his skepticism swayed by Anthea''s impassioned plea. "Knowledge once learned


    is yours forever, no one can steal it. Besides, it won''t take much of your time, just an hour or two


    each day." she urged.


    As her words sank in, Nanson began to see the light. What if the trantor they hired turned out to


    be a corporate spy? It''d be toote for regrets then. Prevention was better than cure, after all.


    He couldn''t help but marvel at Annie’s wisdom. Despite her tender years, she seemed to


    understand so much. Sometimes, Nanson even felt like he wasn’t Anthea''s uncle at all, but the


    other way around.


    "Annie, can you set me up with a tutor then?" he asked.


    Her smile was slight but triumphant, "You''vee around, Nanson?"


    He nodded, "I have."


    Returning to her room, Anthea fetched a few books and handed them to Nanson, "I bought these for


    Mom recently and got an extra set just in case. Here, take these. I''ll send you the tutor''s contact info


    later, and you can talk to them yourself."


    "Thanks," Nanson said, epting the books.


    As he flipped through the pages, he couldn''t resist sharing histest sighting, "Guess what I just


    saw downstairs, Anthea?"


    "What?" Anthea asked.


    "A top-of-the-line sports car, a Silverde, and it''s a limited edition."


    Anthea remained nonchnt, "So?"


    "Do you have any idea how much that Silverde costs?"


    "How much?" she yed along.


    "You''ll drop dead when I tell you." Nanson gestured emphatically, "A billion bucks."


    "Okay." Her indifference was palpable.


    "What?" Nanson gawked at her. A billion bucks and all she had was a casual reply?


    With a roll of her eyes and a tone as dry as dust, Anthea said, "Don''t worry. I''ll buy you ten


    someday."


    Nanson was left speechless, suspecting bluster but without proof.


    He continued his spection, "Only one reason a Silverde would be in our humble


    neighborhood, and it''s got to be some tycoon or mogul visiting his trophy wife, probably to make up


    after a spat."


    Nanson was lost in his own narrative when Anthea cut in, "Wake up, Nanson. The world isn''t full of


    tycoon and trophy wife stories."


    As dusk settled, a luxurious sports car was cloaked by the dimming light. Beneath the streetmps,


    the silhouette of the limited edition Silverde became just discernible, one of less than ten in the


    world.


    The car window was down, revealing a man’s chiseled profile, his features veiled by the shadowy


    light. Dressed in a in, buttoned-up coat, he twirled a crimson rosary between his fingers, which


    stood out against his pale skin.


    The car''s interior was filled with music, and through the window, a faint melody could be heard a


    sorrowful chant.


    After a moment, the man retracted his hand and picked up a lighter.


    Belonging to N?velDrama.Org.


    Snap. The blue me leaped from his fingertips, illuminating his exquisite profile.


    Who else could it be but Mr. Christensen?


    He didn''t know what drew him back to Cloudcrest. No sooner had hended than he found himself


    driving to this very spot. Once parked, the restlessness that had gued him suddenly stilled, and


    memories of his chess games with Anthea flooded his thoughts.


    Her voice was still in his ear:


    "You''re so clueless."


    "Losing to me is normal, don''t sweat it."


    "Life is like chess, and chess is like life. Never be fooled by illusions, Mr. Christensen. You''ve been


    a gracious opponent."