Golden Pound Private Bar, 2:30 AM
Tucked away from the city's common and busy areas was a well-known bar with a good reputation among high society. It was the kind of place one could only access through important connections.
Once inside, an air of privacy and exclusivity could be perceived—elegant but not extravagant. A large hall connected to different rooms, which turned out to be private quarters where meetings could be held, assisted by any type of drink or cocktail, at the guest's request.
In an environment of that caliber, in one of those luxurious rooms, a group of well dressed people in suits and ties, with exclusive brand watches and pretentious hairstyles, were sharing some ideas and information.
This was quite common in such environments. Many young people from prominent families understood that to get ahead, one had to have good connections, and one of the best ways to do that was in places like this where, accompanied by alcohol and women with no male limitations, the best connections could be forged.
"This is one of the last contracts I closed personally. I don't mean to say anything by this, but just keep it in mind, friends." One of the men began to boast, while the others looked at him with disappointed or uninterested faces.
"Oh! By the way! I... I heard that the Hillman's son... he's back again!" another exclaimed, holding an almost empty bottle of Black Daniel's in his hand.
"Hey, how much have you had to drink?" someone else responded, looking away with a nervous smile as they whispered, "Are you crazy! You know we can't talk about him while he's here! He hates him—"
Before he could finish, the sound of a glass being set on the glass table echoed through the room, and as if a storm had passed, everyone fell silent.
"...."
No one dared to speak. Everyone was suddenly nervous and didn't dare to look up. The person who had previously caused the silence broke it.
"Why so quiet?" he responded, increasing everyone's nerves. His face was somber and intimidating.
"He... he didn't s-say it on purpose... it just slipped out of his stupid mouth..."
"Yeah! That's it! This idiot says stupid things all the time, that's why it slipped out!" added someone who was near the young man with the whisky bottle, while covering his mouth.
"Hmm... I see. You don't have to make a fuss. I know he has returned." The man who was sitting in the center of everyone commented while taking another sip of liquor. His smile was terrifying.
"Y-yes... that's what we heard..." The others sighed with relief upon seeing that the person in question was not angry.
Amused by everyone's reaction, he suddenly stood up from the table, directing everyone's tension toward him. He adjusted his jacket and took off his watch. The others thought he had decided to leave, but before they could continue reasoning, the person grabbed the bottle from the drunk young man and, without a second thought, dealt a decisive blow to his head.
"AHHHH!!"
The young man cried out in pain as blood streamed from his face and spread across the floor.
He gripped the spot where the most damage had been inflicted with his hands.
"IT HURTS!!"
Even though he was screaming and asking for help, none of the people present dared to even look at him. No one got up, no one commented.
The perpetrator himself got up and, without any worry, headed for the door. Looking back with a serious expression, he added, "Don't make me waste my time by making me come to this place again." The door behind him closed with a loud sound, leaving the room with an uneasy atmosphere.
When they were sure he was no longer nearby, one of the men approached to assist the injured person, who at this point was crying himself on the floor.
"He brought it on himself..."
"Who gets drunk on that whisky?"
"God..."
In the hallway, that man walked while adjusting his watch and grabbing his phone, ready to make a call.
The staff present bowed to see him off, while another near the door put his coat on for him and handed him his keys.
"Have a pleasant night, sir."
The man did not bother to respond and just got into the black Mustang in which he had arrived. Once inside, the person he was calling answered. And before they could say anything, he interrupted.
"Why did you take so long to answer? Did you find out what I asked you?"
"I'm sorry, sir. We are still working on it. As soon as there is news, I will let you know."
"Make sure you do it soon."
"Of course. I will make sure that happens." The person, who appeared to be in charge, replied.
His voice, unlike the others, did not tremble and seemed strangely accustomed to their boss's attitude. His response conveyed determination.
The man in the car felt satisfied upon hearing his answer. Without saying anything else, he hung up the call and began to whisper to himself, looking amused.
"I'd like to see his face of shock and disturbance soon…"
"Very soon…"
Meanwhile, Nathan was sitting on his balcony, unable to sleep, drinking an entire bottle of wine alone that had supposedly been a birthday gift.
As he drank, he wondered how expensive that wine must be, since it didn't feel ordinary at all. At the same time, he was afraid to look it up.
"Some things are better left unknown."
At that moment, he was not only referring to the wine but to everything else as well to his life in general.
He had recently been curious to know exactly what had happened to him and if a second party was involved in his accident, but he didn't feel motivated or brave enough to find out if that could be possible.
"Many things were left by me before. Documents, decisions, and investments before the accident happened. It's... as if I had known it was going to happen."
Suddenly, a sharp, needle-like pain pierced the back of his right eye. He frowned, trying to ignore it, but the calm of his thoughts dissipated.
The needle turned into a hammer. A dull, throbbing pain settled in his temple, quickly spreading to become a drill burrowing into his skull.
His headaches didn't stop, rather, they became stronger each time, not letting him rest at any moment.
He didn't feel well at all. He didn't want to admit it, but it was suffocating him, and at the same time, he was terrified of having to continue living like this.
"Will this end at some point? Is it worth continuing to try?"
Stressed and lost, as he desperately gripped his head, he asked himself as if he were complaining, "Why? Why? Just why?" He was slowly coming to a realization and at the same time seemed not to want to admit it.
In reality, he had lied when they asked if he remembered anything else, and well, he had said no, but the truth was that one memory kept tormenting him. It was of the moment he was in the very cold sea, feeling frozen and hopeless.
It seemed as if he let all the water drown him without being able to react or move any part of his body. After all this, it hurt him in an unimaginable way. As if he had been abused til the last moment. As if an entire building had fallen on him. It was an unimaginable pain. At least for him.
And at that moment, it was haunting him.
Every night he couldn't help but wake up in a fright, all sweaty and disturbed.
He couldn't rest.