"ID card, please."
A woman clad in nurse's garb sat behind the main receptionist desk, her face dull and emotionless as she look at the two men standing before her.
"Wait a sec." Reaching into his pockets, Trevor pulled out his wallet.
As he shuffled through it, looking for his identification card, Randolph took the opportunity to observe the hospital around them.
He was standing directly behind Trevor. Along the way, he had bought an overcoat from the shopping district located fairly close to the hospital. Along with it came a mask that covered the front half of his face.
"…" Grumbling internally, the young man fidgeted with the mask to get it in a more comfortable position.
Compared to most other hospitals, the hospital that they had entered was relatively small. It was a private hospital after all, probably built out of the funds of some ludicrously rich man, or perhaps a group of investors, for the purpose of profiting.
As due result, it was much less professional than real hospitals run by the government. But in turn, it was much more impressive.
All of the rooms had been cleaned to perfection, the walls completely white and almost sparkling. The backyard of the hospital was trimmed and well-taken care of by a professional gardener, with there being basically a mini-jungle back there.
It was much quieter than normal hospitals, the atmosphere much less solemn. Likely because the hospital was quite picky about their guests.
"Here." Pulling out his driver's license, Trevor handed it to the nurse.
A few minutes passed as she typed away at the hospital terminal, glancing at the card from time to time. After a while, she nodded in approval.
"Your identification has been confirmed. Mister Brut resides in room 202, on the second floor. Take the corridor right and go up the stairs, you can't miss it." Handing the card back, she gave a slight wave.
Randolph noticed that her gaze lingered on him for a time, before turning away again. It was likely due to his mask and his conspicuous overcoat. But as he had come here using Trevor's identification as a relative, he wasn't overly worried about it.
The two nodded to the woman before heading down the hallway.
"Here's fine." After passing a few empty rooms, out of sight of the main lobby, Trevor held out an arm to stop Randolph.
His face emotionless, Randolph pulled out another wad of bills from inside of his coat. He had counted it beforehand, so he merely handed it to Trevor without a second glance. He continued heading towards the stairs, his stride brisk.
The thin man counted the bills as he absentmindedly trailed behind Randolph.
The floor above was reserved for private patients, ones that weren't covered by health insurance companies. Put simply, they were rather large spenders or patrons of the hospital.
It was a residential area, and the hallway of rooms on both sides stretched almost endlessly in front of them.
It was only after rounding a few more corners that Randolph saw the labelled room.
It was a good quality room, the door made of fine wood. A window lay on the door, and beside it was a plaque that contained three silver numbers reading '202'.
Beside the door was a length of glass window which allowed one to see inside the room and vice versa. It had been shuttered closed, but the window on the door was open.
Seeing the room, Randolph's almost unconsciously sped up his pace. Maybe it was out of excitement, or perhaps anxiety, but he forcefully calmed himself as he approached the room.
"Go see him yourself, I won't be leading you in there." Gesturing towards the door, Trevor shrugged nonchalantly.
"I don't think he'd accept uninvited guests."
"I already texted him about it. I kept it brief, just called you an acquaintance." He didn't even look Randolph's way as he replied, merely seating himself on one of the benches in the hallway as he continued counting.
His eyes narrowed, Randolph turned back around. He knew the sort of relationship the grandson and grandfather had, and didn't feel the need to comment on it.
"Stay out here, don't bother us." With those words, Randolph turned the handle to the door, entering the private hospital room.
The first thing that greeted Randolph's eyes were bright lights, and a horrifying amount of luxury.
The room he had entered was almost twice the size of the living room in his apartment. The electrical lighting in the room lined the roof entirely, illuminating the room along with several large lamps that hung down from the ceiling.
There was enough space in the room for several smaller tables and chairs, located at the foot of the bed and near the window.
Expensive looking machinery had been moved into the room and lined at the side of the bed. They didn't seem to be for any medical reasons, but several lines on their screen jumped occasionally, displaying irregular heartrates or breathing issues.
Two large TVs had been placed in the corners of the room, meant for the purpose of entertainment. Aside from those, there were several tablets and phones. There was even a virtual headset placed on one of the tables.
A large coat hung to the side of the door, and a long walking-cane had been placed beside it.
The window outside had an exquisite view of the nightlife in the city, just barely peeking over the large garden of the hospital's backyard.
On the singular bed in the room lay an old man. He was reclining comfortably on the bed, one leg crossed over the other as he tapped away on a large tablet in his lap. His eyes were squinting even despite his reading glasses. In the reflection of the TV, Randolph could see that he was playing a crossword puzzle game.
The man looked rather young for his age of over 70. He was spring and his wrinkles didn't seem to have fully set in yet.
He was youthful to the point that his skin almost seemed to bounce back, and he would have looked even younger if not for the grey mustache that lined his upper lip.
Hearing the door open, the man pushed up his glasses.
"Trevor?" But upon seeing the masked man before him, he wrinkled his brow. "Huh? You're not Trevor."
Taking off his glasses, the man placed them on the bedside table before shifting to a sitting position.
"Who are you?"
"Trevor didn't say? I… am a business associate, I suppose. I've come to see you because I thought you would be a suitable partner." Randolph's voice was lowered as he spoke.
He adjusted himself because the less people that knew about his identity, the better.
"And here I thought my grandson had finally shaped up, coming to see his grandfather out of the good of his heart." Rolling his eyes, John waved a hand as he began shifting back into a seated position. "Leave, I'm not interested in whatever you're selling."
"Please wait, Mister Brut. This isn't a joke, I'm here on very important business-"
"I don't care if it's a joke or if it's serious, you won't get a cent out of me. In fact, I hardly have any spare assets to my name. Why would you come to me and not Trevor's father? You're not getting a cent out of me."
"…" Slightly lost for words, Randolph's brain sped as he contemplated on what to say.
The old man had a point. He had probably dealt with several people looking for financial support or investors, and it likely wouldn't even be worth hearing these people out usually.
Perhaps he would have in his prime, but now he was just a retired old man. The business world no longer had anything to do with him.
He merely wanted to remain in obscurity, in peaceful retirement on his deathbed.
"Call Trevor back in if he's anywhere near. I'd like to have a word with him face-to-face." Brushing Randolph off, the old man didn't even glance at him as he picked his tablet back up.