Mark watched with a mixture of amusement and disdain as Cooper carried out his orders, his lips curling up in a smirk. Cooper barked out commands to his men, his voice echoing through the room. "Clear the place out, boys! The big man wants the space to himself!" As the guards began to usher people out, Mark noticed one of them approach Cooper, his face set in skepticism. He whispered something in Cooper's ear, his words lost in the loud disco music. Mark's curiosity piqued, he wondered what the guard had said to Cooper, his eyes scanning the area as he searched for the flight of stairs leading to the VIP area above in the gallery. Whatever the guard said to Cooper, it clearly struck a nerve. Cooper's face turned beet red with rage as he grabbed the man by the collar of his shirt and suit, his stodgy hands clenched into fists. "Do I look like a clown to you, making little jokes?" He bellowed, his voice echoing through the room. "I've said what the bloody hell I said, so you don't sta

Mark stepped out of his car, the crunch of gravel beneath his feet echoing through the late afternoon air. He handed his briefcase to the waiting guard, a habitual gesture that had become second nature since the car bomb incident. The memory of that fateful day still lingered, a stark reminder of the risks that came with his wealth and status. Ever since then, Mark had taken extreme measures to ensure his safety. His car was now equipped with an advanced security system, designed to detect and prevent any potential threats. The system was state-of-the-art, capable of detecting even the slightest hint of a bomb or tampering. If a bomb had been wired to the door handle, the system would prevent him from opening the door, giving him precious time to react. As he walked towards his house, Mark was flanked by a team of guards, their eyes scanning the surroundings with a hawk's intensity. They were stationed at strategic points, ever vigilant for any suspicious movement or potential threa

The memories flashed before Mark's eyes like a grim slideshow. Sarah, his loyal assistant, gunned down in cold blood. Johnson, his trusted driver, killed in a car bomb explosion. Stefan, the quiet janitor, discovered days after the first excavation, his lifeless body a haunting reminder of the danger that haunted Mark. Mark's grip on the steering wheel tightened as he thought of all those who had been hurt by his enemies. The anger and pain simmered just below the surface, fueling his resolve to make them pay gravely for their sins. Mark's gaze shifted to the passenger side, where his new bodyguard, Saint, sat watching him with an expressionless face. Mark couldn't help but think, what's with bodyguards and their weird names? As Mark deviated from the planned route, Saint raised an eyebrow. "Where are we headed, sir?" He asked, his deep voice firm but polite. Mark's smile grew wider. "I need to see my father," he said, a hint of excitement in his voice. As he drove, Mark's though

Elena walked tentatively along the corridors. It was afternoon, and Mark was downstairs in the mini bar. She had timed what she was about to do to coincide with the time when the guards were about to rotate their shift. She looked along the corridor and found no one standing guard. She hurried over to Mark's door and tried the handle, praying silently that it would be open. Luckily for her, it opened. She walked into the room and shut the door behind her. She hurried over to Mark's closet and hid the briefcase behind a shoe rack. She quickly and quietly stepped out. Once she got to the door, she immediately remembered something and turned back to the set of drawers in a corner of the room. She searched until she pulled out Mark's checkbook. She looked behind her to make sure she was still alone. She opened it and found the imprint of Mark's signature from a previous transaction. She imitated the style and it was a perfect replica. She smiled to herself in satisfaction. She had be

David sat in his office, pouring over financial statements on behalf of Mark. Despite the unexpected turn of events with Mark's arrest, the business still needed to run, and David was determined to keep things on track. David's thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of his phone. He picked it up, and a voice on the other end introduced herself as Cristine Dylan, Mark's account manager. "Hello, good morning, Mr. David. Sorry to bother you," she said. "I'm aware of who you are, Cristine. Is there a problem?" David asked, his tone direct. "I fear so, sir. There's just been a cash-out of one million dollars from Mr. Darius' personal account. I was wondering if you're aware?" Cristine explained. David's expression turned serious, his brows furrowed in thought. "No, Cristine. Can you send me an email with the account statement?" He requested. "Alright, sir," Cristine replied before ending the call. David quickly got on the phone with Mark, a privilege afforded to him as a wea