"Okay, I'll be waiting," Charity replied, her voice filled with anticipation. With a mutual understanding, the call ended, leaving Nina with a sense of purpose and determination to face Felicia's threat head on.
As she set her phone down, a wave of happiness washed over her. With a soft chuckle, she whistles to the room to glance over at her husband who is still lost in peaceful slumber. Despite the chaos unfolding outside their cozy haven, she couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment knowing that she had someone like her husband by her side.
Careful not to disturb him, Nina padded across the room, her steps light and purposeful. She tiptoed into the bathroom, the cool tiles soothing against her bare feet as she went about her morning routine. The sound of running water filled the air as she washed away the remnants of sleep, her mind already buzzing with plans and possibilities.
As she emerged from the bathroom, refreshed and rejuvenated, a mischievous grin tugged at the corners of her lips. With a quick glance at the clock, she realized she still had some time before her meeting. With a newfound sense of energy, she decided to start her day off right – with a hearty breakfast and a steaming cup of coffee. She loves making breakfast for herself and her dear husband.
As the aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, Nina couldn't help but feel a sense of optimism wash over her. Despite the challenges that lay ahead, she knew that she was ready to face them head-on, armed with determination and unwavering resolve.
With a satisfied sigh, she took a sip of her coffee, savoring the rich, bold flavor. As she savored the moment, she couldn't help but feel grateful for the small joys in life – the warmth of a loving spouse, the comfort of a familiar routine, and the promise of a new day filled with endless possibilities. And as she glanced out the window, watching the sun rise on the horizon, she knew that no matter what challenges may come her way, she would always find a way to overcome them.
The turmoil at Switze Media had reached a fever pitch, with the fallout from Ms. Sandra's tragic demise spreading like wildfire across social media platforms. The company's online channels were inundated with scathing comments and criticisms, while content creators seized upon the scandal to churn out a slew of demeaning content, dissecting the circumstances surrounding her suicide with ruthless abandon.
Meanwhile, in the confines of his office, Mr. Switze stood with furrowed brows, his gaze fixed on the throngs of protesters gathered outside. Behind him, the expansive glass window offered a panoramic view of the chaos unfolding below, with demonstrators brandishing placards and chanting slogans that reverberated through the air. His hand absentmindedly tucked into his trouser pocket, he struggled to drown out the incessant ringing of his phone, each call seemingly more urgent than the last.
Among the barrage of missed calls, one name stood out like a beacon of concern – his daughter, Felicia. Yet, Mr. Switze made a conscious decision to ignore her attempts to reach him, his focus squarely fixed on the monumental task at hand. With stocks plummeting and investors threatening to withdraw, he knew that he could not afford to listen to his daughter, no matter how pressing they may seem; besides, she brought this problem to the company.
Seated on the visitor's sofa nearby, Mr. Oman cut a figure of quiet contemplation, his brow furrowed in deep concentration. Despite being brought in as a trusted advisor, tasked with navigating the company through troubled waters, even he found himself grappling with the magnitude of the situation. With each scratch of his head, he seemed to be searching for a solution that remained frustratingly elusive, his mind racing through a myriad of possibilities in search of a lifeline for Switze Media.
But amidst the chaos and uncertainty, one thing was abundantly clear – the fate of Switze Media hung in the balance, teetering on the brink of disaster. And as the pressure mounted and the stakes grew higher, Mr. Switze and Mr. Oman knew that they would need to summon every ounce of their resolve and ingenuity to weather the storm and emerge unscathed on the other side. "What if we use another news to make them forget this one?", Oman suggests,
"What news?" Mr. Switze's voice cut through the tense atmosphere, his brow furrowed in anticipation.
"We can find dirt on Northman Media or Northman Hotel," Mr. Oman replied, his tone grave yet determined.
"Okay, but how do we resolve the suicide issue? What did the police say?" Mr. Switze's voice remained steady, his stance unwavering as he maintained his position by the window.
"They said we should ignore it. That the lady had also accused the Northman," Mr. Oman explained, his words tinged with a hint of frustration.
"She did?" Mr. Switze's eyes narrowed in thought as he turned to face Mr. Oman. "So, why can't the police issue a public statement? Or perhaps release a video when she also accused the Northman?"
"Well, I got the video," Mr. Oman admitted, a glimmer of hope flickering in his eyes.
"Good," Mr. Switze nodded approvingly. "If we use it, there will be no need to find dirt on Northman Media and Hotel." His voice was decisive, filled with a sense of determination. "Let's resolve this issue once and for all so it won't rear its head again. Call the Commissioner of Police and set up a meeting with him."
Meanwhile, in the opulent confines of her lavishly adorned room, Felicia's frustration reached a boiling point as she continued to be met with the cold silence of her father's intentional avoidance. With each unanswered call, her anxiety mounted, the weight of her father's indifference pressing down on her like a heavy burden. She knew all too well that his deliberate evasion was a clear indication of his reluctance to engage with her, further fueling her mounting sense of desperation.
As she paced back and forth across the plush carpeting, her mind whirled with a whirlwind of emotions, each thought racing to outpace the next. How could her own father turn his back on her in her time of need? The thought gnawed at her, filling her with a sense of betrayal that cut deeper than any knife.
Determined to take matters into her own hands, Felicia's gaze fell upon her phone, a glimmer of determination sparking in her eyes. If her father wouldn't listen to reason, then perhaps it was time to seek solace elsewhere. With trembling fingers, she dialed Mr. Northman's number, her heart pounding in her chest with each ring. But to her dismay, the call failed to connect, leaving her once again stranded in a sea of uncertainty.
Frustration bubbled up within her, threatening to consume her from the inside out. How dare Nina orchestrate such and disgusting act?
But as Felicia's mind raced with thoughts of revenge, a small voice of reason whispered in the depths of her subconscious, urging her to tread carefully. For in the cutthroat world of high society, one wrong move could spell disaster, and Felicia knew all too well the dangers of playing with fire.
With a heavy sigh, she sank into the plush cushions of her ornate armchair, her mind awash with conflicting emotions. As she pondered her next move, one thing became abundantly clear – she must face Nina squarely and she must expose her evil doing. Frustrated by the dead end in reaching Mr. Northman directly, Felicia pondered her options. "Should I go through Mr. Northman's secretary?" she mused aloud, her fingers absentmindedly tangling in her hair as she wrestled with her thoughts. But as quickly as the idea crossed her mind, she dismissed it with a shake of her head. "No, he doesn't like me," she muttered to herself. "I need a reliable informant."
A steely resolve settled over her features as a new plan began to take shape in her mind. "Maybe my solace will be in Mr. Nelson," she declared firmly, her voice tinged with determination. "I will use him ruthlessly."
With a sense of purpose driving her forward, Felicia sprang into action, leaping up from her seat with renewed energy. She dashed out of her beautifully decorated room, the sound of her footsteps echoing through the grand hallways of her mansion.
Within moments, she was behind the wheel of her sleek car, the engine roaring to life as she peeled out of the driveway and onto the bustling streets beyond. Her thoughts raced as she navigated the maze of city traffic, her focus honed in on her singular objective – to use Mr. Nelson as her reliable informant. And as she sped toward her destination, her heart pounding with anticipation, she vowed to stop at nothing to achieve her goals, even if it meant playing dirty to get back at Nina.
As she reach Northman's Media, she parked at a distance and carefully observe Mr. Nelson walk into the building, he was not with Mr. Northman, "I guess he might be coming late today", she mutters. She immediately steps out of her car with her hand bag on her right hand, she run towards Mr. Nelson who is already climbing the stairs to his office. Before she could approach him, she was stopped by the receptionist.
"Hey, please I want to meet Mr. Nelson that just climbed the stairs", she says as she gasp for air,
"Do you have an appointment?"
"No but it is important",
"I am sorry ma, the policy is that you must book an appointment first",
"Please, this is urg...."
"Sorry Madam" the receptionist interject "We cannot allow you",
"Okay, can you atleast give him a note?"
"Sure"
She rummaged in her bag, pulled out a pen and paper, scribbled a note, and handed it to the receptionist. After thanking her, Felicia left. Doubts plagued her about whether her message to Mr. Nelson would succeed. She walked to her car, took a brief rest, then drove home. Upon entering her house, she recalled a person who worked with her father, acting somewhat like an undercover agent. He had previously provided valuable information, such as the address of Nina's art studio and details about an upcoming exhibition. Without hesitation, she dialed Mr. Friday's number, and he promptly answered.
Felicia wastes no time in getting straight to the point with Mr. Friday. "Hey, it's me," she says urgently as soon as he picks up. "I need your help again. Remember when you got me the details on Nina's art studio? I need more information like that, and I need it fast."
Mr. Friday's voice comes through the phone, calm and collected. "Of course, Felicia. I'll do what I can. What do you need?"
Felicia exhales a sigh of relief, grateful for Mr. Friday's willingness to assist her once more. "I need any information you can gather on Nina Northman specifically. I'm looking for anything that might help me expose her evils."
"Consider it done," Mr. Friday assures her. "I'll get back to you as soon as I have something. You will pay, right?"
"Yes I will",
"Okay"
Felicia hangs up the phone, feeling hopeful that Mr. Friday's efforts will yield the answers she seeks. She knows she'll need to be patient, but she's willing to wait if it means uncovering the truth behind Nina.