“Alright, Dad, I’ll get in touch with old Nolan right away.”
Oliver Cross’s voice betrayed none of the confidence he wished he had. Beneath the surface, his nerves churned violently, like a storm-tossed sea threatening to swallow him whole. His fingers trembled ever so slightly as he picked up his phone, quickly dialing the number he knew by heart. In moments like this, habit and discipline were all that kept him from freezing.
The line connected.
A hollow, repetitive tone echoed through the speaker.
“Beep… beep… beep…”
No answer.
He frowned, swallowing hard, then tried again. And again.
Three times in total.
Each attempt ended the same way—silence, indifference, and the slow, suffocating dread that something had already gone terribly wrong.
“Dad… no one’s picking up,” Oliver Cros
