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Gibson stretched his limbs, feeling the warmth of the soft hotel sheets embracing him. As he glanced at the alarm clock, its digits displaying 6 a.m., he realized it was still early in the morning. With a yawn, he reached for his phone, curious about the missed calls that had stirred his slumber.His eyes scanned the screen, revealing a series of notifications and messages. One name caught his attention—the caller ID showed "Israel." A spark of anticipation surged through Gibson's veins. He knew this could only mean one thing: a potential development in the business discussion they had embarked upon.Determined to connect with Israel, Gibson swiftly dialed the hotel's receptionist, hoping for more details. A friendly voice answered on the other end, and he wasted no time in inquiring about the missed calls."Good morning," Gibson greeted politely. "I noticed some missed calls from a man named Israel. Could you please provide me with the room number he's staying in?"The receptionist o
Israel Bieber stood there, a mix of shock and disbelief written across his face. The words from Gibson echoed in his mind, and he struggled to comprehend the unexpected turn of events."What? You have bought the company from me. Why still make me the manager?" Israel questioned, his voice filled with confusion and a hint of skepticism.Gibson's smile remained, as he met Israel's gaze. "I was considering you, Israel," he explained, his tone calm and reassuring. "In my good graces, I made the decision to offer you the position of manager."Israel's brow furrowed, still trying to grasp the magnitude of the situation. He pondered Gibson's words, wondering about the motives behind this unexpected arrangement. A mix of gratitude and suspicion danced within him."Is it compulsory?" Israel inquired, his voice tinged with a hint of skepticism. "Do I truly have a choice in the matter?"Gibson's smile widened, understanding the skepticism in Israel's tone. He clarified, "You do have a choice, Is
Gibson's curiosity intensified as he yearned to uncover the details of the past altercation between the two men. President Adams, however, seemed reluctant to delve into the subject. "It is all in the past, though," he remarked, attempting to downplay the significance of their previous conflict.Gibson was not easily deterred. He remained intrigued and persisted, expressing his genuine interest in understanding the history between them. "I am still very interested," he stated firmly, his eyes fixed on President Adams.Israel, feeling compelled to shed some light on the matter, took a deep breath and began recounting the events. "It was quite some time ago when the company was at its peak," he began. "President Adams approached me with an offer to buy the company, but I stubbornly refused. Our negotiations broke down, and we had a falling out."Gibson listened attentively, connecting the dots and realizing the significance of their past disagreement. "So, many years later, you only agr
Helen's eyes widened in disbelief as she stood face to face with Gibson, struggling to comprehend his unexpected presence at her doorstep. A mix of surprise, anger, and confusion swirled within her as she mustered the courage to confront him."What are you doing here?" Helen's voice quivered with a hint of disbelief, her tone laced with a touch of skepticism. The memories of past events flooded her mind, reminding her of the pain and turmoil associated with Gibson's name.Gibson, undeterred by her initial reaction, met her gaze with a calm demeanor. "I came here to talk, Helen. To talk with your daughter, and perhaps, to talk with you as well," he replied, his voice carrying a sense of sincerity.Helen's emotions surged, her voice tinged with frustration. "You have some nerve showing up here, Gibson. Your name alone has been a constant source of tension in this household. Please, I implore you to leave."Gibson's words hung in the air, laden with a heavy truth. "Hope you know that lega
Gibson stood in front of the house, among blooming flowers and lush greenery. The scent of freshly cut grass and the melodious chirping of birds filled the air, creating a serene atmosphere around them.Gibson's life had been anything but easy. Concealing his true identity and hiding who he really was became a daily struggle. Yet, he maintained this facade, playing along, all for the sake of a long-term plan."You probably shouldn't treat me this way," Gibson pleaded, his voice tinged with desperation.Cynthia's eyes narrowed, her face contorted with anger. "Oh, now you're begging?" she retorted sharply. "But you just lied about tearing the check!"Gibson took a deep breath, his gaze steady. "Please don't misunderstand me," he implored. "I did tear the check and throw it at your brother, but that's not why I'm here."The tension between them hung heavy in the air, but Gibson pressed on. "I'm not here for your money or any material possessions. I came because deep within my heart, ever
Victor winced in agony as he lay on the ground, his broken arm causing him immense pain. Gibson, drenched in sweat, stood tall, resembling someone who had just completed a grueling workout. As the flashing lights of the police cars illuminated the scene, tension hung in the air."Hands up! Nobody make a move!" commanded one of the police officers, their voice authoritative and firm.Without hesitation, the officers swiftly closed in on Gibson, their steps purposeful and efficient. They wasted no time in restraining him, swiftly securing handcuffs around his wrists. Gibson remained motionless, his face betraying no emotion, a portrait of silent defiance.Helen, fueled by adrenaline, rushed out from the gathering crowd. She had been the one to alert the police, and now she needed to make her presence known. When asked by an officer about the caller's identity, she responded urgently, "It was me! I'm the one who called!"Meanwhile, Cynthia watched the unfolding scene with growing trepida
Gibson sat nervously on the hard, wooden bench in the dimly lit police station, his mind filled with a whirlwind of emotions as he reminisced on the chaotic series of events that had unfolded just moments ago. The room echoed with the distant sounds of bustling officers and muffled conversations, heightening his sense of regret and unease.Every detail of the encounter replayed in his mind like a broken record, each moment etched with vivid clarity. The vivid image of Cynthia's distressed face and tear-streaked cheeks haunted him, a painful reminder of the havoc he had unwittingly caused. Doubt gnawed at his conscience as he questioned whether his impulsive decision to show up at her house had been a grave mistake.As Gibson sank deeper into his thoughts, he realized that his actions had been driven by a desperate need to seek redemption, a fervent desire to clear his conscience before taking any further steps. The weight of his guilt bore heavily upon him, making it difficult to brea
President Adams was taken aback by the unexpected sight of Gibson, who stood behind the cold, unforgiving iron bars within the confines of the police precinct. As the President approached, he couldn't hide his astonishment and blurted out, "I am still very shocked to see you here, Gibson."With a hint of defiance in his eyes, Gibson held onto the iron bars, his gaze locked onto President Adams's face. He seemed unfazed by his current predicament and replied, his voice laced with a touch of sarcasm, "Hope Cynthia didn't catch a glimpse of you on your way here, just to make matters worse." He wanted reassurance that his unexpected appearance hadn't further complicated their already complicated situation.President Adams, realizing the gravity of the situation, sighed with relief. "I'm smarter than that, young master," he assured Gibson. "Rest assured, she didn't see me. I made sure of it." There was a glimmer of satisfaction in his voice, as if he had successfully executed a covert oper