"Nicklaus," Mr. Wyatt chimed himself in when he saw the seriousness in his son's face as he spoke, "A minute please,"
Nicklaus nodded. Taking his finger off Alfred's shoulder, he cleaned it with a table napkin and tossed it away the moment he finished cleaning his finger thoroughly as if Alfred had a communicable disease and he had just touched him.
Done with that, he stepped aside with his father and still had his side eyes fixed sternly on Alfred.
"We can't send him to jail, it's not in our power. We would have the higher-ups to face if we do," Mr. Wyatt shared reasons with his son, using a hushed tune.
Nicklaus frowned, "You're right," he nodded thoughtfully, "You can't send him to jail but I can,"
Mr. Wyatt's brows creased, "How? What do you have running in that head of yours? Do you have a plan if the higher try attacking the company because we made them one profit short?" he inquired.
