Joanne Jones, The Eight.

George stood in front of the TV, his eyes fixed on the screen, absorbing every detail of the ongoing event. After a moment of contemplation, he reached into his pocket, fishing out his phone with practiced ease. Scrolling through his contacts, he located the name "Lucas" and dialed, anticipation building as the phone rang.

As he waited for Lucas to answer, George's gaze wandered around the lavishly furnished living room, where the maids stood in silent attendance. Among them, he searched for a familiar face, a fleeting glimpse of recognition. Yet, amidst the silent throng, he found no one he could place. His attention returned to his phone just as the call connected.

"Hey!" George greeted, his voice tinged with enthusiasm.

"Uncle," came the reply from the other end, the tone slightly subdued.

George hesitated, a hint of guilt creeping into his voice. "Listen, don't get annoyed, but I don't think Jonah will be at his school event today."