Joe's hand shook as he stared down at the paper. It was identical to the one he’d received earlier—same handwriting, same eerie message, and the words that made his blood run cold: ‘Tick-tock, Joe. Time’s running out.’. But as he looked closer, something caught his eye. This note wasn’t addressed to him. It was addressed to his father. Joe’s stomach tightened, and a rush of questions flooded his mind. His father had been receiving the same threats, and Joe wondered just how long these letters had been haunting him. Could this be connected to his father’s death? Had the same person been behind his death and was now coming for Joe? The panic began to take over. He would find out who was behind this, no matter what it took. Driven by the need to know more, he began searching through the study, pulling open drawers and rifling through shelves. A stack of envelopes, all marked with the same threatening handwriting, fell into his hands. The door creaked, and Joe froze. Without thinki

Joe looked at Hannah with a stunned expression, though he quickly tried to mask it. "I have no idea what you’re talking about," he said, forcing a casual tone and averting his eyes. He couldn't let her see how rattled he was; this was because he didn’t want to get involved with her, especially when it came to this issue. Hannah’s gaze remained on Joe. "You can play dumb all you want, but I’m not buying it, Joe." Her voice was sharp, and she sounded angry. "I’m searching for answers about my father’s death, too, and I know you’re doing the same." Joe clenched his jaw. He wanted to speak so badly, but a part of him warned him not to. Instead, he moved toward his car, opening the door quickly. "I’m not searching for anything, Hannah," he replied, sliding into the driver’s seat. He looked up at her, forced a polite but empty smile, and added, "Good luck finding out who killed your father." He turned the key in the ignition, and he was about to pull out of the driveway when her vo

Joe arrived at the location Hannah had given him; it was a small cottage house. He couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow as he looked around. The place looked like something out of a fairy tale, with its soft pastel exterior and white picket fence. Before he could even knock, the door opened, and he saw Hannah standing on the porch with her usual half-smile.“Welcome,” she said, gesturing for him to come inside.Joe stepped into the cottage, and his first impression was almost overwhelming. The space was decorated with pink flowers and delicate lace. It looked like something out of a dollhouse, and he didn’t expect Hannah to leave in a place like this or even like the color pink.She acted like a reserved person who preferred white-colored walls and matching curtains. Joe remembered the saying never judge a book by its cover, and that made him bite down on a smirk, fighting to keep his expression neutral. Hannah seemed to catch his gesture, and she raised an eyebrow.“If you’re about

Joe stopped looking at Hannah, and he took a step forward, his shoes crunching on the shattered glass spread across the floor. His gaze fixated on the broken window, where a thick rope dangled down toward the street below. “How did this happen?” Joe murmured as he tried to piece together. The breeze from the open window ruffled the papers strewn about the room. Hannah’s face was displayed her frustration as she examined the rope. “He ran away,” she said with a sigh. “That’s the only logical explanation.” “But why?” Joe asked, still not moving his eyes from the broken window. “He knew we weren’t here to hurt him, right?” “Of course, I made it very clear I wanted to gain answers, nothing more,” Hannah replied, rubbing her temples “Maybe it was your tone of approach!” Joe said, trying to lighten the mood, despite the fact that he was hurt. “Seriously?” Hannah asked, and her voice caught Joe’s attention. “So that’s what you’re going with?” “I’m trying to be logical here but yo

After calling Jeremy several times and not receiving a reply, Joe started his car and headed towards his office. As he entered the building, his eyes caught sight of John talking to Mr. Maxwell at the receptionist's desk. The moment he got closer, Mr. Maxwell's voice rang out, and he didn’t sound pleased. "Where have you been, Joe?" Mr. Maxwell asked, and there was a drop of frustration in his voice. Joe paused for a moment, quickly collecting his thoughts. "I had things to attend to," he said with an apologetic shrug. Mr. Maxwell's brow furrowed as he glanced over at John. "One of the biggest investors in the city showed up today—he’s a close friend of Mr. Leon's. And thanks to John here, who managed to convince him to reschedule his meeting, if he didn’t step in when he did who knows what would have happened." Mr. Maxwell’s eyes drilled into Joe. He was clearly irritated. Joe was about to speak, but Mr Maxwell stopped him. "Jeremy tried to call you several times.” H