The night had grown thick with silence inside the Martin mansion. The lights from the chandelier dimmed softly over the living room, casting long shadows across the marble floor. David sat alone in his father’s study, a half-empty bottle of whiskey by his side, his shirt half-unbuttoned, and his tie hanging loose like a snake around his neck.
The desk before him was littered with papers — the same fake documents that had humiliated him. He stared at them again and again, his mind replaying Desmond’s cruel laughter.
“You think I’m stupid, boy? These are fake! Pathetic fakes!”
The words burned in his skull. His fists clenched until his knuckles turned white.
“Fake…” he whispered bitterly, slamming his hand on the desk. “He made me a fool. Jacob made me a fool!”
He stood up abruptly, pac
