David's frustration erupted, with a hiss, he shoved Martin away, sending him stumbling backward into his chair.
The force of the push was so great that the chair legs scraped against the floor, echoing through the room.
David spun around, his eyes blazing, and marched towards the door, intent on escaping the toxic emotions that threatened to consume him.
But Martin's voice, laced with a desperate urgency, halted David's retreat. "David, please! You have every right to hate me, but hear me out! Just a few minutes, that's all I ask!"
Martin's words hung in the air, a poignant plea that resonated deep within David's soul, arresting his flight and turning him back to face the man he loathed.
Martin's eyes brimmed with tears as he pleaded, "Tell me, David, when did she... when did Laura pass away? I want to make amends, to find a way to heal the wounds I've inflicted on you and your mother. I'm deeply sorry for my failures as a father, and I hope to earn your forgiveness, no matter how long it takes."
But David's grief and anger had reached a boiling point. "There's no way to fix anything, no way to bring her back!" he snarled, his voice cracking with pain.
"I don't need your help, or your pity. Just leave me alone!"
With that, David flung open the door and stormed out of the study, slamming it shut behind him with a resounding crash, leaving Martin alone in the silence, his words hanging in the air like a desperate prayer.
As David opened the door, he was met with the unwelcome sight of Vincent lurking in the hallway, clearly having eavesdropped on their conversation.
David's expression remained impassive, and he deliberately disregarded Vincent's presence, brushing past him without a word, making it clear that Vincent's intrusion was none of his concern.
Just as David reached for the entrance door handle, Vincent's voice echoed from behind, his tone laced with an air of mystery.
"You might find it difficult to leave the estate without assistance. Would you object if I helped you?"
The words hung in the air, hinting at a hidden complexity that made David's instincts prick with unease. He turned to face Vincent, his eyes narrowing slightly.
Meanwhile, in the study, Martin let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders sagging under the weight of his thoughts.
He had been investigating Laura's illness, pouring over reports and documents, but the ones he received that day only left him with more questions than answers.
The silence in the room was oppressive, punctuated only by the soft creak of leather as he slumped back in his chair.
The documents never hinted at her passing, and the revelation struck him like a ton of bricks, leaving him feeling blindsided and reeling.
Rubbing his temples, Martin tried to massage away the tension building in his head, his eyes closed in a futile attempt to shut out the painful truth.
Then, he reached for the whiskey glass, seeking a fleeting respite from the crushing news that threatened to consume him.
"Sir, Madam Laura could have passed on after the investigation," the butler, Winston, said, his voice low and soothing, as if he knew exactly what Martin was thinking, his words a gentle prod towards acceptance.
Martin's voice was laced with a mix of sadness and determination, his words weighted with a sense of responsibility.
"Winston, please ensure David's safe passage home. He's endured more than enough.
See that he's escorted off the estate without any further incident or distress. It's the least we can do for him, given all that he's been through." Martin's tone conveyed a sense of regret and culpability.
Martin rose from his chair, his movements deliberate and purposeful, and strode over to a discreet safe nestled between the bookshelves.
He dialed in the combination with a practiced hand, the safe's lock disengaging with a soft, metallic click.
From within, he retrieved a thick bundle of cash, bound with a rubber band, which he then handed to Winston with a nod.
"For David's journey," he murmured, his voice low and gravelly. "Ensure he lacks nothing. See that he wants for nothing, Winston. He's been through enough."
Winston took the cash, his face a mask of professionalism. He bowed slightly, acknowledging Martin's instruction, then exited the study quietly.
Outside, Winston was just in time to see Vincent's car glide away, the headlights illuminating the dark driveway as David settled into the passenger seat.
The car's tail lights faded into the distance, leaving Winston standing alone in the silence, the only sound being the distant hum of the car's engine disappearing into the night.
Two hours earlier, in the hospital, Betty has recognized the body, but it wasn't David.
Betty made her way to Laura's room, hoping to find David there, but he was still nowhere to be found.
As she headed towards the elevator, Doctor James hailed her from down the corridor.
"Hey! I think your friend left his bag in my office. Could you swing by and pick it up for him?"
"Oh sure," Betty followed him to his office, waiting outside the door.
Doctor James brought out a black sling bag, exactly like the one she gave to him in the morning.
Betty's face lit up with a hint of a smile as she expressed her gratitude, "Thank you so much, Doctor James!"
She then continued on her way, while Doctor James acknowledged her with a nod and a wave, before returning to his office, his attention already shifting back to his work.
As the elevator doors closed, Betty dialed David's number once more, but this time, the sound of his phone ringing came from the bag in her hand.
A harsh reminder that he was still nowhere to be found. Her face fell.
Locating his phone did little to alleviate her concerns. David's disappearance remained a mystery, and she couldn't even begin to search for him at home, since she had no idea where he lived.
With a heavy sigh, Betty exited the hospital, her feet carrying her in the opposite direction from where David had vanished.
She walked away from the uncertainty, her mind still reeling with questions, her heart heavy with concern for her missing friend.
The chill of the night air prompted her to hail a taxi. As the cab cruised along, she gazed out the window, her attention caught by a fleeting familiar face outside, visible only because the traffic had slowed the cab's pace. At first, she didn't register who it was.
She turned her gaze back to the direction, and her eyes landed on David, sitting in a sleek white convertible.
But before she could even process what she was seeing, the car surged forward, speeding away with a rush of wind and a faint screech of tires.
"Please, can you quickly follow that car?" she urged the cab driver, her focus fixed on the disappearing convertible, without even noticing the red glow of the traffic light ahead, her attention solely on the fleeing vehicle.
As the traffic light switched to green, the cab surged forward, but the white convertible was nowhere to be seen, having vanished into the night.
"Ah, forget it," Betty said, her voice laced with disappointment. "Just take me home, please."
The driver nodded sympathetically and merged into the next lane, while Betty gazed out the window, her mind still fixed on the mysterious sighting of David.
Vincent pulled the car to a stop, the club's neon lights reflecting off the windshield, and turned to David with a questioning glance.
"Hey, you in for a beer?" he asked, his voice tinged with a hint of invitation.
David's gaze met Vincent's, his eyes blank and unresponsive.
His voice flat as he uttered, "Sure." His face remained impassive.
They stepped out of the car and onto the bustling sidewalk, where a sea of people surged towards the club's entrance.
The thumping bass and pulsating rhythms spilled out into the night air, vibrating through their bodies even before they reached the door.
The bodyguard's eyes locked onto Vincent and David as they pulled up in their sleek ride, and a nod of recognition was all it took for him to wave them forward, ushering them past the long line of hopefuls who had been waiting for hours.
The collective groan of frustration from the crowd was palpable as the velvet rope was pulled aside, granting the two men VIP access.
Inside the club was the intoxicating scent of alcohol, smoke and sweat. The air seemed charged with the energy of the crowd, intensifying the intoxicating blend of scents.
They pushed through the sea of bodies, the crowd parting reluctantly as they made their way to the bar.
The neon lights overhead cast a colorful glow on the polished counter, and the bartenders moved with precision, mixing drinks with a flourish.
David and Vincent claimed two stools, the leather creaking as they settled in, and surveyed the options on the menu.
After attending to a young lady, the bartender came in front of them and said, "what can I pour for you tonight?"
"Can I get a kamikaze shot, please?" Vincent ordered.
"I'd like a brandy shot tower," David requested.
"Right away sirs," the bartender then quickly started on Vincent's kamikaze.
Vincent's eyes locked onto David's, his voice low and serious.
"If something came up from your meeting with my father, would you consider him your father and go to him for help?"
The bartender expertly slid Vincent's kamikaze across the counter and meticulously stacked the brandy shot tower in front of David, the glasses clinking softly.
David's reply was a terse, "I don't know," his eyes flashing with a hint of defiance as he reached for the top shot glass and downed it in one swift motion.
Vincent's voice took on a slightly bitter tone, "I see," his eyes lingering on David's face as he sipped his kamikaze, the shot glass hovering near his lips.
"What do you want from me though?" David asked, his eyes searching Vincent's face, wondering if he was after something or just trying to get him drunk.
Either way, he wanted to get his mind off everything, even just for a minute.
His mind was in chaos. He just kept taking shot after shot until he finished them.
Vincent ordered him another shot tower, while David chugged them down again in less than two minutes, without break.
Vincent tried to ask him more personal questions but as David was occupied with his brandy shots.
He finished three rounds of brandy tower, before his head fell on the counter, which must have hurt, but he did not react to it,
Vincent finished his kamikaze before leaving David who had passed out from all the alcohol he drank
Vincent paid the bartender and dropped some cash for David on the table before leaving.
The music got louder, and David remained passed out on the bar counter.