This is a great shift in perspective. Seeing Martin fall apart without Sarah really highlights how much she was actually the "brains" of the operation. It makes his betrayal feel even more fool
Back at the mansion, Martin was pacing the length of his sitting room like a caged animal. He was dressed in a charcoal-grey robe that hung open in a deep V, revealing a chest slick with a cold sweat that also glistened on his forehead. He stared at his mobile phone with an intensity so fierce it was as if the very survival of his company depended on the screen lighting up. The device beeped for the tenth time, signaling another unanswered call, before falling into a mocking silence.
For hours, he had heard nothing. Not a single update from the men he'd hired for the "task." He had tried reaching them repeatedly, but every number was dead, except for the second-in-command, whose phone simply rang and rang until it cut to voicemail. He was flying blind. He didn't know where they were, he didn't know if they had succeeded, and most importantly, he didn't know if Sarah was actually dead.
Martin exhaled a shaky breath. He was spiraling. He knew they couldn't afford a single mistake; any loose thread would lead the authorities straight back to his front door.
Suddenly, the phone in his hand shrieked, startling him so badly he nearly dropped it. He lunged for the "accept" button, expecting the gravelly voice of his lead kidnapper, but his face fell the moment he saw the caller ID. It was one of his office assistants. He answered with a sharp, reluctant growl.
"Boss, we have a little situation over here," the assistant's voice was thin and panicked. "There's a client in the office right now. He's agitated, questioning the quality of the materials used on their site."
Martin's brow furrowed into deep, angry lines. "Which client is it?"
"A representative from Canaan University. We're handling their new library, remember? They're claiming the structure is losing its balance at the first floor. It's threatening to collapse, Boss. They're questioning the qualifications of our engineers, the integrity of the materials… they're questioning everything."
Martin let out a ragged sigh. "Alright, alright. I'll be there shortly."
Groaning in frustration, he flung the phone onto the sofa and yanked open his closet. He cursed loudly as he rifled through his clothes. Everything looked mundane, wrinkled, or wrong. Usually, Sarah would have picked his outfit, ironed it to a crisp edge, and laid it out perfectly before he even stepped out of the shower. Now, he was stuck with Charlotte—the red-haired woman currently snoring in his bed, who couldn't even be bothered to wake up at seven to make him a decent cup of coffee.
He finally settled for a wrinkled red shirt and light blue trousers that fit poorly around the waist. He knotted his tie loosely, looking more like a man coming off a bender than a CEO, and stormed out of the house.
When he reached the office, the reality was far worse than the assistant had described. Instead of one representative, there were three. They were mean-looking, red-eyed, and stood with the strained posture of a group of Avengers sworn to take a pound of flesh from their enemy.
Martin's stomach did a slow flip. If he could have dug a hole in the floor and vanished, he would have. Sarah was the only person who could navigate these waters, she had a way of turning a disaster into a "minor misunderstanding."
*Damn her,* Martin swore internally. He was struggling to keep her out of his mind, even catching himself in a momentary, traitorous prayer that she wasn't actually dead yet.
"This way, gentlemen. Let's resolve this in my office," he tried to say with authority. The men didn't even acknowledge his greeting; they simply stared daggers at his tacky, unprofessional appearance.
As Martin dragged himself toward his desk, the memory of the Canaan University budget surfaced. He remembered it clearly, he had siphoned off a massive chunk of the construction funds to buy Charlotte the latest Cybertruck for her birthday. He had done it all behind Sarah's back, telling the account officer, "It's just a student library, no one will care about the build quality. I'll compensate you later." He had outsourced the work to underqualified day-laborers and bought the lowest grade of cement and steel available. Now, sitting opposite these three grim faces, those choices were coming back to haunt him.
"Welcome to Shincity Construction, esteemed clients," Martin began, his voice cracking. "Thank you for stopping by. I trust the project is moving along...."
"We aren't here for pleasantries," the lead man snapped. "The project is a disaster. I'm sure your assistant told you that much."
"Yes… yes, well…" Martin stammered, searching for a lie.
"The site is a mess. Your workers are smuggling materials to sell on the side, the cement is watered down, and the iron rods are substandard. You promised a three-story library in six months. It's been six months and you haven't even finished the ground level, though we should thank God for that, or the whole thing would have collapsed on our students' heads."
"Erm, my esteemed clients," Martin said, sounding like a man talking in his sleep. "We can settle this. Give us a few days to investigate the workers and discipline them…"
"There's no need," the eldest man said, standing up. "We are done. We want your incompetent crew off our land by sunset, and we want a complete refund of our deposit."
Martin's heart hammered against his ribs. He couldn't lose this deal. His father would skin him alive. But there was a more immediate problem: there was no money to refund. Ever since the company had lost a major government contract, they had been hemorrhaging cash. Canaan University pulling out would be the final nail in the coffin of their public reputation.
"I beg you, give us another chance, Mr. Man," Martin pleaded, his voice thin.
The elderly man paused, a cold, mocking chuckle escaping his lips. "You called me 'Mr. Man.' You've been handling our millions for half a year and you don't even know my name." He leaned over the desk, his shadow looming over Martin. "You have forty-eight hours to return our funds in full. If the money isn't in our account by then, get ready to be sued into the dirt."
The three men stood and filed out, each leaving a wake of cold fury behind them. Martin sat frozen in his chair, the silence of the office suddenly feeling like a tomb.
Just then, his phone vibrated on the desk. It was an unknown number. He picked it up with trembling fingers, hoping for good news, but the voice on the other end wasn't one of his men.
"Hello, Martin," a smooth, chillingly familiar voice rumbled. "I believe you've lost something of mine. Or rather... I've found something of yours that you didn't think was worth keeping."