Suddenly, Mr. Bandt's phone buzzed. Frowning, he checked the screen—it was one of the men he’d lunched with earlier. He answered brusquely.
“Hello.”
The voice at the other end was hurried, almost panicked.
“It’s bad news. Marcus is dead.”
“What? How?”
The voice lowered. “They said… an accident. Drunk driving.”
The head of construction’s brows drew together. His voice was cold now.
“Marcus? Drink and drive? That man never touched a wheel after a drink. He always called for a driver. Always.”
A heavy pause lingered. His suspicion deepened.
“…I’ll see you all very soon.” He hung up, eyes narrowing. Something wasn’t right.
---
When my eyes blinked open, the ceiling above me was unfamiliar. My muscles ached, my body weak.
“You’re awake,” Jessica’s voice came, relief washing through
