Private

"Fetch me a private investigator," Matthew barked, his voice like a whip cracking through the air. "At least you should be capable of doing that," he sneered, his eyes blazing with contempt. "And I need a response in less than 15 minutes…" He trailed off, his sentence hanging in the air like a challenge.

The pathetic servant at this point wanted the ground to just open up and swallow him whole. How was he going to be able to get the contact of a private investigator? He had no connections, no resources, no idea where to even start. He was just a lowly servant, tasked with menial duties like pouring wine and answering doors. Matthew's demand was like asking him to move a mountain.

Matthew quickly noticed his dilemma, and this only grew his anger. He sprinted up from his seat, his body tense like a coiled spring, as if he was about to leap into a marathon. Then, in a flash of rage, he smashed the wine glass in his hand, the shards shattering on the floor dangerously close to the servant