From the moment the taxi drove into the affluent neighbourhood of Thompson Ford Royale, Jonathan and his wife felt uneasy in the back seat.
"Are you sure we are in the right place?" Jonathan asked, squinting through the windshield at the magnificent-looking structures ahead.
"Yes sir." The driver answered flatly. He was already exhausted from the couple's constant bickering ever since he picked them up at the hospital.
"Maybe he is taking a shortcut," Agnes suggested timidly, wishing there was a way she could pacify her angry husband.
Before Jonathan could turn around and snap at her, the taxi rolled to a stop by the side of the road.
The driver pointed to an opulent and intimidating white-walled duplex.
"That is number 56, Thompson Ford Royale, sir. According to my meter reading, it will cost you just eighteen dollars and fifty-four cents." The driver announced, tapping his steering impatiently.
