"Not yet," Michael's eyes grew darker at the mention of the issue, "But I've generally inferred who the instigator could be."
Even though Benjamin Talkington was only six years old, the look on his face revealed the efficiency and sharpness that was characteristic of the Clegg family.
"Then I'll leave it up to you, Michael, to find out who," the voice on the other end of the phone also clenched his teeth, "You just need to find out who it is, and leave the rest to me."
"Hmm, don't worry," Michael coldly snickered, "If we really find out who it is, we won't even need to lift a finger."
Drip... drip... drip...
The early hours of the morning.
The man lying on the luxury KING-SIZE bed, his countenance sheltered in dreams, was still slightly furrowed. His black hair scattered over the pillow, the high bridge of his nose and lengthy neck all subtly exuding the scent of hormones in repose.
Drip... drip... drip... the faint sound of a phone.
The man suddenly opened his eyes.
