The Presidential Palace was brightly lit, heavily guarded. At night, the security measures were even stricter than during the day, with a guard post every five steps and a sentry every ten steps.
Faint light flickered through the intricate carved windows of the double-layered wooden loft.
In the courtyard stood a loquat tree, its winter leaves yellow and withered, leaving only a few sparse leaves on its bare branches.
The slanting tree shadows cast upon the coffin-shaped window, swaying gently with the chilly northern wind.
From inside the room came a deep and hoarse cough, sounding as if someone was unwell.
This was followed by a conversation.
"Sir, you've been working for twelve hours today. You should take a break."
"It's fine. I still have some documents to review. These are reports from local governments. It wouldn't be good if there's an emergency."
"But... your health. The doctor said you need to take good care of yourself."
"I'm really fine. Alright, Joe, go rest. You've been off work; go grab a meal."
This remark left Joe feeling both amused and bemused. The President had actually picked up on the latest internet slang. It was clear that he was making a genuine effort to bridge the gap between himself and the general public, striving to be a people-friendly and dedicated President.
"Alright, then I'll go now. The housekeeper is going out to play chess today, and my grandson is waiting for me to pick him up from school."
Hearing this, Abel couldn't help but feel envious. He set aside the documents in his hand, glanced at Joe, and jokingly remarked, "You can bring your grandson to visit me here another day. I'm a lonely old man and would love to spend time with children."
Joe couldn't help but feel a mix of emotions upon hearing this. He had been working for Abel for almost twenty years. Abel always worked diligently and tirelessly, never complaining, even when he was ill.
Abel was truly a good president for the people.
Such a good person, yet… unfortunate things had happened in his family.
Both he and his wife were nearly sixty years old, and they had no children of their own. Although Miss Emily was considered the President's heiress in name, everyone knew that Abel didn't like her much.
When he stepped down, the next President wouldn't be from the Davidson family, and certainly not Miss Emily.
As soon as Joe left, the entire room descended into darkness.
Abel, who had been reviewing documents, suddenly felt his vision blur, forcing him to stop writing and rub his tired eyes.
"What's going on?"
"Someone, go check it out quickly."
In this dim environment, visual perception was hindered, but one's auditory sense gained an advantage.
As soon as he finished speaking, the sound of a creaking door reached his ears.
Abel's gaze was drawn to the figure that had just entered through the door. His pupils involuntarily contracted, staring fixedly at the newcomer.
His Adam's apple bobbed.
Silently, he uttered a single word. Upon closer listening, it seemed like he was saying, "Chan... Channing."
The person who entered was surrounded by a cold aura, moving soundlessly like a ghost.
As he reached Abel's desk, he came to a halt, and in a momentary glimmer of silver, Abel instinctively closed his eyes.
The next moment, a short knife was held against his neck.
In this dark and eerily quiet room, the air seemed to freeze and turn cold, as if it had plunged into winter.
His life now hung in the balance, dependent on the decision of this individual.
Most people would have felt panic in such a situation, but Abel was, after all, a president of a country who had encountered many storms in his life.
This small scene was not enough to evoke fear within him.
"Ahem... I thought you were dead," he stuttered.
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