People are scared in America, my uncle is Dante

Suburbs of Los Santos.

Suren stepped out of the car and looked up at the vast private estate before him.

The Victorian-style buildings disappeared into the night, while a huge fountain sculpture sprayed water outwards.

He curled his lip: "Damn rich dog."

Upon reaching the banquet hall entrance, Suren deliberately stopped and waited for a while.

It wasn't until a servant noticed that he hadn't moved for a long time that he came forward and respectfully led the way.

Suren sighed with a hint of regret:

"What a pity."

He was also wondering if some clueless security personnel or some rich kid would jump out and look down on him, making provocative remarks.

In that case, he could legitimately collect a sum of money for emotional distress to slightly replenish his depleted wallet.

Unfortunately, the attendant had clearly received instructions in advance.

Without even checking Suren's invitation, they led him into the banquet hall.

The dinner was taking place during the pre-dinner cocktail party.

The banquet hall was dimly lit and played soothing classical music as guests strolled around, chatting and holding glasses of red wine.

As soon as Suren appeared, the conversation in the hall quieted down.

Those high-ranking officials who were usually only seen in the news all turned their attention to him.

Among these gazes, some were filled with curiosity, some with scrutiny, but most were deliberately concealed fear.

Suren picked up a glass of champagne and glanced around the room.

To his surprise, a significant proportion of the guests at the dinner were Black.

When these people met his gaze, they would instinctively shrink back, as if he were some kind of demon.

On the contrary, a small group of white people looked at him with fanaticism and greed.

Moreover, these guests all carried a hint of demonic aura, and a few even exuded a faint divine presence.

This also confirms his previous speculation that many high-ranking officials have indeed come into contact with demons or angels.

But then Suren thought about it again, and realized that this was quite normal.

When you sit in a certain position, even if you are virtuous, have a strong will, and resist the temptations of demons and angels.

But can you guarantee that your competitors, your arch-enemies, won't fall into the arms of evil?

To avoid dying an unexplained death and to prevent your family from becoming pawns, you are forced to take the field and seek the protection of the same supernatural power.

Seeing that no one was taking the initiative to strike up a conversation, Suren was happy to have some peace and quiet.

Since the other party specifically invited him through Old Man Midnight, they would eventually lose patience and come to him on their own.

Before that, let's eat something first, so our trip won't be in vain.

He walked toward the buffet tables laden with food.

Looking at all that meat on the plate...

After thinking for a moment, Suren decisively took the plate and went to the dessert and pastry section.

"No wonder there are so many extreme vegetarians..."

Just then, an elegant white man walked up to him, holding a glass of red wine.

He watched as the waiter cut a slightly bloody piece of roast meat and said slowly, "It's not quite done yet."

"When top-quality ingredients are hunted, if they are put into a state of just the right amount of fear, the adrenaline will make the meat's texture firmer."

The man's voice was magnetic and pleasant to listen to.

He turned his head and looked at Suren:

"What do you think, Mr. Suren?"

Suren couldn't find the strawberry sundae she wanted on the table, so she picked up a macaron and glanced at the other person.

Hannibal?

Hasn't this guy been arrested yet?

However, Suren did not sense any demonic or angelic aura from the other party.

"Oh, sorry, I forgot to introduce myself."

The man elegantly raised his glass. "My name is Hannibal Lecter, and I'm a psychology consultant in Los Santos."

"I actually think it tastes better when it's a little charred; it's cleaner and safer that way."

Suren replied casually.

Hannibal's smile faltered slightly, but he quickly recovered: "It seems Mr. Suren also has his own unique ideas about food."

"I hope to have the honor of inviting Mr. Suren to dinner another day so we can have a proper chat."

He gave a meaningful smile, raised his glass in a toast, and then politely turned and left.

Suren watched Hannibal's departing figure, her curiosity piqued.

The fact that an ordinary person with no supernatural powers can thrive in a high-level circle surrounded by demons and angels is enough to show that he is definitely not normal.

However, as long as the other party doesn't bother him, he's too lazy to investigate these matters.

As time went by, the cocktail party came to an end, and the guests gradually took their seats at the tables.

Just as Suren pulled out a chair to sit down, a waiter came to his side and whispered:

"Mr. Suren, Mr. Braddock is waiting for you in his study upstairs."

Suren paused, "Why didn't you call earlier? Since you sent out invitations, how can you let guests talk business on an empty stomach? Tell him to wait a little longer."

The powerful figures sitting next to him paused in their actions.

No one in this manor has ever dared to so bluntly refuse its owner.

But when they looked up and saw that it was Su Lun who had spoken, they quickly lowered their heads again, pretending not to have heard anything.

The waiter froze, standing there at a loss for what to do.

After a moment, he bowed slightly and said respectfully, "Okay, please enjoy your meal."

After dismissing the waiter, Suren picked up her knife and fork and began to eat.

At the same time, they were also observing the people around them.

Because he always felt that some of the people here behaved rather strangely.

For example, some people open their mouths for several seconds before bringing the glass to their lips when they are drinking.

For example, when someone is cutting a steak, they've already stuck the fork into the meat before the knife starts moving across the plate.

This feeling is like their bodies simply can't keep up with the commands their brains give them.

Demonic possession? Or a side effect of some medication?

Suren kept this question to herself.

The long meal was coming to an end.

As Suren picked up a napkin to wipe his mouth, the waiter quietly approached him again, bowed slightly, and spoke respectfully:

"Mr. Suren, Mr. Braddock is waiting for you in his study upstairs."

"Lead the way."

Suren dropped her napkin.

The owner is quite patient.

Following the waiter through a carpeted corridor, Suren was led into a spacious study.

A slightly overweight middle-aged man was already sitting on the leather sofa in the study.

Suren didn't stand on ceremony and went straight to sit down on the sofa opposite.

At the same time, he also subtly observed his surroundings.

Soon, a miniature camera in the corner caught his attention.

He looked away, leaned back on the sofa, and looked at the middle-aged man, waiting for him to speak.

The middle-aged man stared at Suren, his tone grim: "I am Richard Braddock. The largest medical device manufacturer in the state and several private mental hospitals are all my businesses."

He tried to use his background and experience to suppress the other party's arrogance.

But Suren didn't care about the amount of money; whether it was a lot or a little, she wouldn't spend a single penny.

He nodded slightly without saying anything.

Richard, seeing this attitude of completely disregarding him, felt a slight twitch in his facial muscles and took a deep breath:

"At the same time... I am also Scott's father."