I Returned to the Day He Brought His First Love Home-Chapter 74: Dying to Kill Grace Winslow

It was nearly ten o’clock by the time Grace Winslow got back to the factory.

Archer Rhys walked her to the foot of her building and watched her go upstairs. He waited until a light flickered on in her apartment, then stood there for a few more minutes before finally turning to leave.

News that the human traffickers had been caught spread quickly.

Families who had lost children, in particular, all rushed to the police station to ask about the situation, hoping to hear news that their child had been found.

Prospera Town was livelier than it was during the New Year.

Meanwhile, Gordon Lynch was hiding in a cold, damp underground air-raid shelter. He viciously kicked the wall and cursed, "Damn it!"

"How did that Grace Winslow know about our operation? That damn woman actually reported me! If I get my hands on her, I’ll make her beg for death!"

A short man stood in the shadows with him. His voice was disguised, clearly to avoid being recognized. "Enough. The people you sent yesterday were all arrested. You’d better lay low and not screw up the boss’s plans."

"We took a huge hit this time. Even if you want revenge, you have to wait for the heat to die down."

"Don’t make any rash moves for now. Just wait."

"I can’t let this go." Gordon Lynch was impulsive. After being screwed over so badly—his entire den raided and the dozen or so children he’d worked so hard to abduct all rescued—how could he possibly swallow his anger?

"You’ll endure it whether you like it or not," the other man snorted coldly at Gordon Lynch’s outburst. "There’s something off about that woman, and she has people protecting her. If you act rashly and get caught... hmph, you know the consequences. Think about your family. Your wife and kids."

Gordon Lynch fell silent.

The sound of footsteps followed, indicating his accomplice had left.

Gordon Lynch spun around and slammed his fist into the wall. "Damn bitch! You’d better hope I never get my hands on you!"

"ACHOO—"

Grace Winslow let out a huge sneeze. She rubbed her nose and muttered, ’Could Gordon Lynch be cursing my name right now?’

’We’ll get you sooner or later.’

Putting the matter aside for the moment, Grace Winslow dove back into her work.

Lately, all of Prospera Town was busy with the manhunt for the fugitive, Gordon Lynch.

Wanted posters with his face were plastered on every street and alley.

The public’s hatred for human traffickers ran deep.

After all, most families had children, and they would be ready to kill any trafficker who dared to abduct one of their own.

Gordon Lynch was having a miserable time.

He was like a rat in the sewers, not daring to show his face during the day for fear of being seen and reported.

And the one responsible for all of it was Grace Winslow.

He hated her to his very bones.

"Did you hear? The textile factory is expanding its workforce. I heard they have fifty openings."

"I heard they’re making ready-to-wear clothes now, too. Aren’t they just stealing business from the garment factory?"

"What’s the big deal? Money goes to whoever’s skilled enough to earn it. I’m going to hurry up and apply. I’ve heard the benefits at the textile factory are fantastic."

"Apparently, it’s all because of an accountant named Grace Winslow. She came up with a plan that not only cleared out all the factory’s unsold fabric but also made them tens of thousands."

"That’s not even the half of it! The distant cousin of my daughter’s classmate’s relative’s neighbor’s uncle works at the textile factory, and she said that this month they’re shipping out a batch of 15,000 ready-made garments, worth over a hundred thousand!"

"They say that Grace Winslow person is going with the delivery. I heard she lives in the city... I wonder if she’s married. I should go and ask around..."

Hiding in the shadows, Gordon Lynch overheard all this talk about Grace Winslow.

The more he thought, the more his hatred festered. He had been in hiding for a month, and he was sick and tired of this life in the shadows.

Even if it meant he’d die, he was going to kill that little bitch, Grace Winslow!

And so, under the cover of darkness, he crept out of the air-raid shelter and made his way toward the textile factory.