Elsewhere, Beta Gilbert was in his room, pacing while holding a phone to his ear. His voice suddenly rose in frustration.
"I believe I’m just paying you all for nothing!" he barked. "You have three days—three!—to come to me with the kind of information I’m asking for!"
Without waiting for a reply, he ended the call abruptly, his jaw clenched.
"I need to handle this before it spirals out of control," he muttered to himself, eyes dark with anger. "There’s no way I’m going to share what I’ve built over the years with anyone. Not now, not ever."
After a brief silence, he grabbed his phone again and made another call.
"Hello, Sandro. Where are you right now?" Gilbert asked, his tone sharp.
"I’m in Italy, boss. What’s the task?" came the reply, laced with an Italian accent.
"I need you on the next flight to Scotland. Tomorrow. There’s something important I need you to do. It can’t wait," Beta Gilbert ordered firmly.
"Got it, boss. I’ll be there," Sandro responded without hesitation, and the call ended.
Beta Gilbert stood up and made his way to his wine shelf, hoping for a drink to calm his nerves. But just as he reached for a bottle, he noticed something off in the room.