Golden Hay Hotel

The next day, early that morning, in the headquarters of Smithers Group, Gareth Smithers paced back and forth in his spacious, mahogany-lined office.

He was grunting and muttering to himself. His fingers twitched with irritation as he pressed the call button on his office phone for the tenth time that morning.

The sharp, rhythmic beeping that signaled an unanswered call rang in his ears like an unbearable siren.

Still no response.

Gareth's jaw clenched as he grabbed his personal phone, quickly going through his messages.

— Where the hell are you?

— Why haven't you returned with news?

— Did Darren Steele accept the settlement?

— ANSWER ME, RACHEL.

Nothing. Not a single reply. His secretary had been completely off the grid since he sent her on an errand yesterday.

It was unheard of. Unacceptable. Disrespectful. No one ever dared disrespected him before.