Chris usually only stayed in touch with Donovan and a few select employees at the company. He had never given his number to strangers, so he answered with immediate suspicion.
"Hello?"
There was silence for a few seconds before the caller spoke in Mali. "Orin Sontara?"
His heart sank. He quickly switched to fluent Mali and asked, "Who are you?"
The caller let out a cold, rasping laugh. "It's only been five years. Can't you recognize my voice anymore?"
Chris froze. As the realization hit him, his pulse began to race. "Kori Pamer?"
"So you finally remember," the voice drawled, dripping with a cold sneer. "You're doing pretty well in Glenmoor these days, aren't you? Working for a billionaire, living in a massive villa, playing at the high life. I'm almost jealous!"
Hearing that voice brought back a flood of memories—Kori's face and the bloody feud that stood between them. Chris' grip tightened on the phone, a flash of murderous intent igniting in his eyes.
"Where are you? How did you get this number?" Chris asked. His voice was calm, but it was the calm of a predator. The call was coming from a Valanthean number; Kori had likely slipped into the country and had been tailing him in secret.
"Where I am isn't important." The man chuckled darkly. "I suppose you still remember your younger son?"
At those words, a sharp pain tore through Chris' chest.


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