CHAPTER 3

His eyes shone in disbelief. Donald ran his hand on his straight hair, as millions of thoughts engrossed his mind in seconds. He took off his clothes combing his pant pocket, he found a ten dollar note left for him, he couldn't believe his eyes.

Everything he has saved has been taken away, and his hope of getting a gift for his wife has now vanished. He felt deranged and was bewildered as he fought the pain impounding in his heart.

"No, no. Where could my money be and who could have done this to me. My five hundred dollars." He mumbles, he said with his heart pounding fast in anger. He couldn't believe the money that took him a year to save was taken within some minutes.

"Are you okay, Donald?" Another of his colleagues' questioned.

Donald struggled with his voice, "I…I… am looking for my money." He stuttered.

"Are you sure you came with money?" he asked, glancing around.

"Yes, I am sure. I kept it here." He retorted, with a low tone.

Donald paced back and forth as he gasped in shock with his hand on his hair. His colleagues stared at his face as they murmured among themselves.

"We all know you to be a pauper, how did you get the money you kept in your bag?" One of them uttered in sarcasm.

"Yes, Donald. How much is it and how did you get the money? Tell us." Another of his colleagues uttered.

Donald didn't listen to them, he thought about what to do. He had a few minutes left.

"What is going on here, and where is that son of a bitch called Donald." Mr. Benson said with his voice brimming in fury.

Donald gasped upon hearing his boss's voice; he knew he was going to face another problem.

"Sir, Donald claimed to be looking for his money."

Mr. Benson chuckled while maintaining his gaze on Donald. "Donald is looking for his money. How and when. I didn't know he had money," he said, "Donald, whatever you are looking for is none of my business. Have you finished what I asked you to do?"

Donald furrowed his brow in a frown state, he was thinking of how he lost his money and his boss was coming to piss him off. He didn't listen to him. Instead, he backed his boss as he continued looking for his money. He bent down, peering under the desk, but he couldn't find anything.

He sighed in frustration, "What do I do? How do I explain to her that I lost the money which I am supposed to use to get her a present for her birthday." He muttered inwardly.

Mr. Benson pranced towards Donald, turned his gaze towards his direction, and slapped him.

Donald didn't expect it, as he staggered hitting his back on the locker. Donald was shocked; he glanced at his colleagues who were looking at him.

"Are you deaf? Why didn't you not respond to me? Is your useless money more important than my question?" He yelled. "You know what? You are fired; enough of your acting." He said.

He called his secretary informing her to come with a termination letter he kept on his desk. Within a minute the secretary walked into the dressing room. And she handed the envelope to Mr. Benson.

"Take this, you are fired. I don't want to ever see your face around the premises."

Donald folded his palms together below his jaw, "I am sorry, sir. Please, give me another chance. I don't have another job, forgive me." He pleaded.

"I don't want to hear your voice, Donald. You are sacked, Get the hell out of here before I call the cops on you. I have endured your rubbish, I can't take it any longer." He intoned.

Donald felt his heart pounding in his chest, he wondered who he had offended in his past life and why he was suffering. He glances around the room, his eyes darting from one colleague to another. He could see how some made a mockery of him and could see them move their lips and murmur silently.

"God, what is happening to me, why do I have to face such a problem today?" He said inwardly as he inhaled with a sad outlook.

Donald was still holding the sacked letter in his hand, he walked towards the entrance with his bag behind his back. He could hear Mr. Benson's voice cursing from behind.

He hoisted his head, staring at the blue sky; he tossed his head towards the hotel. He was lost in thought and didn't know when he barged into an old man with a black suit.

Donald raised his gaze at the man; he stared at him from head to toe; the man was in his sixties. His smell was nice, and he was well-dressed.

"I am sorry," He said, with a low tone.

The man nodded his head as he adjusted his suit and walked into the hotel.

Donald made his way towards his apartment. He tried calling a few friends to ask for help, but none of them were able to help him. He felt a surge of pain coursing through his veins.

After walking for several minutes, he finally arrived home. From the gate, he could see the door of his apartment and notice the flashing lights coming from inside.