Chapter 914: The Impostor

Entering the pastoral scenery of the backyard,

winter pines loomed, with waves of green rolling on.

The servants saw both of them appear and consciously dispersed.

Keenan Mitchell approached Arthur Lindsey, his hand steadying the silver, high-end wheelchair, his face showing concern as he spoke, "Uncle Arthur, how are you feeling today? Does your head still hurt?"

"Much better, it doesn't hurt," Arthur Lindsey replied mechanically and with a cold indifference.

His staccato words were as heavy as gunfire.

"It seems the medicine I prescribed is very effective. Continue to take it until it's finished, there are only a few doses left," Keenan Mitchell said, his thin lips curled into an unfriendly cold smile.

Arthur Lindsey saw it all.

But he pretended he saw nothing.

He had been feigning a headache since last night.

It was simply to keep these two at a distance, to win some time and space for himself, to sort some things out.