Tom came closer and helped the dishevelled Arthur by supporting each other's shoulders to get up slowly. Unfortunately, Arthur refused. He pushed Tom away angrily. His dark face changed drastically even without saying a word. Tom shook his head softly. His wet face signalled the same sadness. He nodded his head repeatedly, then brought Arthur closer to the coffin in front of him. "Why, dad?" asked Arthur regretfully. He had never expected his dad's death. It never even occurred to him to think of his dad dying, even though the desire to seize all of Fischer's wealth never left his head. "Why did you have to die, dad? Why didn't he die?!" Tom cried even more guiltily. After all, he had just returned home. He still wanted to be with his dad, still wanted to tell him things, still wanted to make up for all the time he had lost for more than a third of his life. Arthur couldn't help

Arthur had just arrived home when the clock struck 4:15 AM. Unsteadily, he rushed up the stairs. But what a surprise he had when he saw the living room. There were three glasses on the table. Curious, Arthur approached. He looked at the tall coffee cup on the far side. Meanwhile, the other glasses were all gone. Slowly but surely, Arthur, who was hiccuping, remembered. His eyes widened, and he sat down right in front of the iced coffee, which was still untouched even by a sip. He searched his shirt pocket, but found nothing there. Slowly, he got up hurriedly, opening the workspace where he had changed his clothes. "What the fuck? Where's my shirt? How am I going to lose that evidence? No-no. Please don't lose it. But where is it? I'm sure I have it in my shirt pocket!" Arthur's incoherent babbling could actually be heard by Tom from the doorway. He knew Arthur had done something with the iced coffee