Arthur hurried to his father's office, located underneath the trance. His mind was racing as he did it, trying to play out all the negative scenarios flitting through his brain.
He suddenly became scared of so many things. First, was Diana in any kind of trouble due to his impulsiveness in entrusting her with that ring? Secondly, could she handle it if trouble came her way? Thirdly, what the hell was wrong with him that night to give a ticking time bomb to her for safekeeping? something that would be difficult for even him to keep safe, despite the fact that he was quite invincible.
He wondered if he should go look for Diana first, but a second thought told him that might be what those people interested in Cleopatra might want. They probably wanted to get him all riled up so that he'd lead them straight to where Cleopatra was kept. He took a deep breath and pushed the door to the office open, half expecting the worst.
Behind a huge mahogany desk sat his father. Flanked around him were the major stakeholders and chairmen of the Scorpio group. Arthur's heart missed a beat, feeling like his worst fear was being slowly confirmed, so he braced himself for war. Because none of the faces were smiling, even his father's usually smiling face was grim as they all turned to see who the intruder was.
Jamil's face slackened somewhat in relief on seeing Arthur safe. He knew how crazy his son could be when angered, so his being here was good news, because it meant he wasn't yet aware of the matter at hand.
"What's going on here?" Arthur asked as he took the other CEO's seat opposite his father.
Jamil closed the file before him and wordlessly threw it at Arthur, who caught it midair. The atmosphere got weirder as the others glanced at Jamil in shock, surprise, and helplessness. Some of them sweated profusely in fear, while some of their faces bore resignation.
They had all been pleading with Jamil not to let Arthur know what had happened in one of their branches. They were scared of what his reaction would be and what that would mean for themselves as well as their loved ones.
Arthur took in all these sudden changes in less than a minute and began flipping through the file. His expression hardened more with every page he flipped through, scanning the contents and reading the notes placed underneath each.
"Heaven help us all," one of the men at the table muttered as he held his head in his hand.
Jamil threw a cold glance his way, but the man was trembling as he tried to wipe the sweat from his brows, unable to meet his gaze. His glance swept across the table warningly, making the men shrink further back.
Everyone knew this father-and-son duo. It was bad enough that Arthur seemed like he was about to blow his top anytime soon; they knew the city of Sorona might burn if Jamil followed. So they held on to their last vestige of courage and waited for Arthur to finish with the file and address them.
"Where did this come from?" Arthur asked with an icy calm, which seemed to freeze up the room.
Jamil waited for someone to say something, but everyone went quiet. He understood their fear. Hell, he was even scared of his son sometimes. But he also knew Arthur wasn't hot-headed, and that was more than enough for him. Seeing no one say anything, he turned to Arthur, whose eyes were coldly trained on him.
"That came from Greg," his father finally said.
"Are there any survivors?" Arthur asked.
"None we know of," his father replied.
Arthur took a deep breath and exhaled through his mouth. These people were really testing his limits, and he just might give it to them.
He glanced at the file again and felt his skin crawl at the charred bodies of his staff and the burned-down building of one of their bases in Atlanta. He was never one to hurt his people, but yet here was a group that called itself the Cabaretti, killing them off like they were animals.
"Who are the Cabaretti?" He asked.
Jamil took a deep breath and glanced around at the people at the table who wished they weren't there. His gaze then traveled back to Arthur, who was looking pointedly at him. Arthur nodded once; a silent message passed between them.
"Does anyone here have anything to say, or have you all suddenly gone dumb as well as deaf?" He asked, making himself comfortable in his chair, as his eyes traveled over these men who were supposed to be the best out there among mercenaries and military personnel.
One of the men cleared his throat, shifting uneasily in his chair.
"We don't exactly know what their aim or objectives are. But they don't seem to be just an ordinary organization that they make themselves out to be." He told Arthur.
"Has anyone tried to know where their bases are located?" Arthur asked.
The men all looked at each other, then at Arthur. They uncertainly shook their heads "no."
"We haven't even heard of them before now." One of the men spoke up.
"So you didn't think you should scout out the new threat before you came running to us?" Arthur asked in disbelief, feeling his anger rise further.
"We actually came here to tender our resignation," another stammered.
Arthur turned to him with a raised brow, looking at him like he was stupid.
"I'll act like I didn't hear you say that," he said.
"It's true." The first speaker chipped in.
"We can't stay in our positions, waiting like sitting ducks to be picked on by these people," he continued.
Arthur's gaze swept across them again. He turned his senses on and could smell the mixture of fear and guilt on each and every one of them. They were all good men, people his father had trained from scratch. He could also smell frustration and reluctance on them.
Arthur had never understood his father's sentimentality about them, but now he thought he understood it to a certain extent. These men weren't afraid for themselves; they were afraid for their loved ones, and he'd have failed them all if he couldn't take care of their safety. The Cabaretti wanted war? He'd give them one in his own way.
"Well, no one's going anywhere," Arthur said, letting his gaze rest on each and every one of them.
All the heads present in the office whipped to his direction. But Arthur wasn't fazed as he grabbed his backpack and the file. His father simply studied him thoughtfully as he made his way out.
"Arthur" Jamil suddenly spoke up, rising from his seat.
Arthur stopped, turned around, and watched him come over to him. He could sense his father's thoughts and wished he could tell him the truth. But that truth was a double-edged sword that could either hurt him or Diana.
"Something you want to tell me, son?" His father asked, just enough for both their ears alone.
"I just need you to trust me on this, Jamil," Arthur said with a sigh.
"I do. But whoever Cleopatra is with, is in danger. Can you bear that on your conscience?" Jamil asked, holding his son's clear gaze.
"You know me better," Arthur said.
"I do. But we didn't see this coming at the Atlanta base either." Jamil said.
"I know, but..." Arthur said.
"No buts, no maybes," Jamil stressed.
"I can't emphasize how important it is that Cleopatra is kept from these bloodthirsty groups after it," Jamil said.
"I've got this under control," Arthur told him.
Jamil raised his brows at him.
"I promise," Arthur said, exasperatedly.
Jamil gave a curt nod and went back to his seat with an inaudible sigh.
"Anyone of you having a problem with that can come beat me up at my house; I'll be waiting," he told them at the door and walked out, slamming the door shut behind him.
The men all turned to stare at Jamil, who met their gazes head-on and shrugged, the ghost of a smile playing across his lips. This was one of the many times he was proud of his son.
The men, on the other hand, knew they had no choice in this; they were more scared of Arthur than they were of a million Cabaretti, and they knew that even Jamil couldn't change his mind about this. So they started going back to their bases one by one, leaving Jamil staring thoughtfully at these men who had stayed loyal to him for as long as he could remember.