The silence between us stretched thin, with only the ticking of the clock on the wall filling the space. I still had the cheque in my hand, my name written across it.
“Sir Marcus,” I whispered, my voice trembling, “what exactly happened that day? Why did you come home looking like you’d seen a ghost?”
He leaned back in the chair, the wood groaning under his weight, his gaze shifting to the window as though he couldn’t bear to look at me. For a long moment, he said nothing, and I thought he wasn’t going to answer. But then his hands clenched into fists, his knuckles pale.
“They came to me,” he finally muttered, his voice low and heavy.
“Who?” My voice cracked.
“The people I used to work for,” he said, spitting the words out like venom. His jaw tightened, eyes dark. “The same ones I tol
