Elijah Simons sat in his luxurious living room, his wristwatch catching the light as he checked the time for what seemed like the hundredth time.
His foot tapped anxiously on the marble floor while his eyes flicked to the door every few seconds.
After what felt like an eternity, one of his guards entered.
"Sir, he’s here."
"Let him in!" Elijah ordered with impatience. "You didn’t need to ask me."
Moments later, the door swung open and Mr. Frederick stepped in, his expression serious, his steps purposeful.
"Welcome, my friend," Elijah said, standing to greet him with a firm handshake and a smile.
"Thank you. But let’s not waste time on pleasantries," Mr. Frederick said sharply. "We need a solid plan—one that will take back everything that rightfully belongs to us from the Gilberts."
Elijah’s face lit up at the words. He nodded eagerly.
"Exactly what I wanted to hear," he said. "So... what’s the plan?"
"A strategy that makes you a hero," Mr. Frederick said, his voice calm but intense. "One that paints them as the enemy—and positions us as the saviors."