Regretting the Wife He Threw Away novel Chapter 273

Westenmar.

The moment Stewart and Carl stepped out of the airport, they were greeted by Larson and a handful of men in black suits.

“Mr. Wentworth, Mr. Ferguson would like to see you,” Larson announced.

Everyone who had ever dealt with Garry Ferguson knew that Larson was his right-hand man.

Once involved in the underworld, Larson owed Garry his life—a debt that made his loyalty absolute.

Stewart fixed Larson with a cold stare. “Where’s Rosita?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Wentworth, I can’t disclose that.” Larson gestured politely toward the waiting car, his tone respectful. “If you have questions, perhaps you could ask Mr. Ferguson in person.”

In Westenmar, Garry Ferguson could protect anyone he wished—effortlessly.

Without another word, Stewart climbed into the car.

Half an hour later, the car pulled up in front of a towering office building.

Larson got out, motioning for Stewart to follow him inside.

Carl moved to go with them, but the men in black blocked his path.

“You’ll wait here,” one of them said.

Carl glanced at the group. Muscle, plain and simple.

In Westenmar—a country where business and politics were hopelessly intertwined—Garry Ferguson wielded power with ease.

Carl knew better than to argue. He waited.

—

The building belonged to Garry—one of his many properties.

Larson led Stewart up to the twenty-eighth floor.

The entire floor was a private club.

They passed through a long corridor, finally stopping outside the last door.

Garry was inside.

Larson knocked, waited a beat, then opened the door.

“Mr. Ferguson, Mr. Wentworth is here,” Larson said, bowing slightly.

“Let him in.”