"As you wish, Sir." Owen could only bow his head and carry out the order.
Once the jet headed towards New York, the blond took off the damp brown hair wig and washed his face with water.
Gazing into the mirror, a wave of uncertainty washed over Yves as he prepared to dye his hair a deep, jet black shade. The reasons behind his decision remained elusive, as if caught between the need for a disguise when entering the treacherous depths of the lion's den and a reflection of the profound darkness that had consumed his mind.
As he was still occupied with fixing his appearance, he turned his attention to the figure entering the private cabin. The knocking sound had interrupted his concentration, and he awaited Owen's report.
"Sir, we have received another news," Owen began, his voice carrying a sense of urgency. "The Morrison Family is organizing a dinner at the Grand Falcon Hotel, and it's scheduled to take place a few hours after our estimated time of arrival."
