The days passed slowly.

And the nights? They felt endless.

Michael sat on the edge of his bed, staring blankly at the wall. He was still wearing the same clothes he had worn the day before. His fingers traced the loose thread on his trousers, back and forth. His father’s death had taken something from him, something deeper than just family. It was as if the house itself had gone silent, and that silence was now living inside him.

Thomas’s last words kept echoing in his mind:

“Your dad… he wasn’t the type to just collapse like that.”

That was when he started recalling what actually happened that day he saw his father on the floor. The details of it all, and just then he realized that he had been ignoring a single fact. One that proved his father's death wasn't natural.

He remembered that as he was dialing the phone and calling the emergency, a figure jumped out from the window. He'd tried to ignore it, but it lingered, and now he must face the truth, though he had no single idea of what to do and who to tell, and he kept just but always watchful.

By the fourth day, the walls of the house started to feel too small.

He needed to move. To do something. Anything.

So he got dressed.

No plan, no direction, just his instinct. He grabbed his old CV, folded it into his bag, and stepped into the city like a man trying to breathe again.

He tried two offices that afternoon, both small firms with glass doors and uninterested receptionists.

“We’re not hiring.”

“Try again next quarter.”

They didn’t even offer him a seat. The rejection didn’t sting as much as their tone, the kind of tone that said you’re not special.

By mid-afternoon, it was hot as the sun burned hot on the pavement. The streets buzzed with impatient drivers, sellers shouting, and smoke curling from food stands. Life went on, loud and chaotic, while Michael felt completely still inside, a man walking through noise and going nowhere.

He crossed the road, head down, lost in thought, until something caught his eye.

A man.

Across the street.

The same man from the cemetery.

Same black suit. Same quietness.

Michael stopped walking. The man was staring straight at him. Their eyes met for just a second, then the man turned and began to walk away.

Without thinking, Michael followed.

He pushed through the crowd, ignoring the horns and curses of drivers.

“Sir!” he called out.

The man slowed a little but didn’t stop.

Michael caught up beside him, panting.

“I know you.”

The man gave a faint, unreadable smile. “Do you?”

“You were at my father’s burial,” Michael said. “And before that... I’ve seen you before. In our house. Years ago.”

The man finally turned to face him. His eyes were sharp, and calm.

“You remember well,” the man said.

Michael swallowed. “Who are you?”

The man didn’t answer directly. He reached into his coat and handed Michael a black card, a clean, simple card with no name. Just an embossed gold address and a short line of numbers.

“Come tomorrow. 10 a.m. sharp,” he said. “Ask for me.”

Michael looked down at the card, then up again,

But the man was already walking away.

*******

The next morning, Michael found himself standing outside the address printed on the card.

It wasn’t anything flashy, a tall, glass building tucked quietly between bigger, louder ones. But the moment he stepped through the doors, everything changed.

The air smelled of money. Real money. Quiet, controlled, confident.

Before he could even speak, the receptionist stood.

“You must be Mr. Cross.”

Michael blinked. “Uh… yes.”

She nodded, pressed a button, and said into the intercom, “Mr. Hunter is expecting him.”

Two security officers appeared almost instantly, but not in a threatening way. One smiled slightly and gestured to the elevator.

“Right this way, sir.”

Sir.

They called him sir.

The elevator opened to a quiet passage that is lined with glass walls and soft, dark carpets. Every inch of the place screamed wealth.

The assistant stopped at a large door with no nameplate, just a fingerprint scanner. She pressed her finger to it, and the door immediately opened.

“Go in,” she said.

Michael hesitated, took a slow breath, and stepped inside. He was amazed at the interior of the office.

The man stood by the window, opened the door, and looked over the city. Same black suit. Same calm presence.

“I see you came,” he said without turning.

Michael nodded. “Couldn’t exactly ignore the invitation.”

The man then turned slowly, with a faint smile on his lips. “Sit down.”

The chair was soft leather, the kind that swallows you when you sit.l. The room was simple but expensive, just a desk, a globe, a few shelves, and a strange painting that seemed older than the building itself.

“My name is Leonard Hunter,” the man said at last. “I knew your father. We weren’t just friends, we worked together… once.”

Michael frowned. “Worked together? Doing what?”

Leonard didn’t answer. Instead, he asked, “You said you’re looking for a job. What have you been doing lately?”

Michael sighed. “Trying. Applied to over six places already. I actually got one, at a tech startup, but I missed the first day because of my dad. That was the day after he collapsed. The job didn’t matter then.”

Leonard nodded slowly. “I’m sorry about that.”

Michael hesitated, then repeated, “You didn’t answer me. What kind of work did you and my father do?”

Leonard’s gaze drifted away. “It’s… one of those jobs that are safer if you don’t know about them.”

Michael’s eyes narrowed. “Safer? Was it dangerous? Was my father involved in something like that?”

Leonard looked back at him. “Why do you ask that?”

Michael’s throat tightened. “Because there’s something I’ve never told anyone,” he said quietly. “My father didn’t die of a heart attack. He was killed.”

Leonard stood frozen and that was all. He didn’t even blink. He just watched Michael.

“Wait… You know about it?” Michael said as his voice shook slightly. “You didn’t even react.”

Leonard took a slow, deep breath. “Who told you your father was murdered?”

“I saw it myself,” Michael said. “Someone was there that evening. A man. He left through the window just before I ran in. I… didn’t chase him. I was too focused on my dad.” His voice cracked. “What happened to my father? Who killed him?”