The Jenkins mansion, once proud and untouchable, now looked like a fortress under siege.
The gates trembled beneath the press of bodies—paparazzi, journalists, even curious neighbors, all shouting and shoving microphones through the iron bars.
Their voices clashed in a storm of questions that seemed to shake the very walls of the estate.
"Mr. Jenkins! Is it true you killed your partner?"
"Lewis! The video shows everything—what do you have to say?"
"Do you deny stealing the company?"
The flashes of cameras burst like lightning in the dusk, scattering across the manicured lawns, reflecting on the mansion's grand windows.
The air smelled faintly of rain on stone, dampness carrying through the iron gates and mixing with the electric sting of overheated camera lights.
Inside, the family wasn't untouched by the chaos—the sound seeped in, crawling through the halls until it pressed on every ear and every chest like a suffocating weight.
