Rico Amigo

By the time he arrived at Holloway Medical, it was already noon.

The building stood tall against the afternoon sky, its glass facade reflecting the golden sunlight.

The silver lettering above the entrance gleamed in the light, Holloway Medicals, a symbol of both healing and exclusivity.

Well-dressed professionals walked in and out, their faces weary but composed. Patients were wheeled across the well-manicured front garden, where the scent of fresh lavender mixed with the sterility of hospital-grade disinfectant.

Darren stepped out of his Aston Martin, the deep rumble of its engine cutting off as he shut the door behind him.

He held a large bouquet in his hand, full of roses, tulips, and lilies arranged meticulously, while the neatly wrapped box of cookies in his other hand gave a homely touch to his otherwise sharp and professional look.