The Fence Emerald Company's grand hall was alive with excitement as guests arrived, their footsteps resonating off the polished floors.The presentation space was beautifully set up, with a big stage taking up most of the front of the room.Investors, stakeholders, and company representatives were seated in rows, their voices blending into low murmurs. There was tension in the air, a lingering mix of skepticism and curiosity.Amaya and Clinton joined Mr. and Mrs. Jones at one of the main tables. Their faces were a mixture of annoyance and contempt, their eyes darting now and then to the stage where Rowland would soon be seen."I still can not believe they let him lead this presentation," Amaya said, her voice low and venomous. "It is a slap in the face!""Disgraceful," Mrs. Jones said, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. "That man has no right to be in the spotlight after all he is done."Mr. Jones leaned back in his chair, his jaw tightened. "Let us see how long he can last. Hi

The tension in the hall had reached a boiling point. The audience was in a state of unrest after the old man's accusation, and the mutterings from the crowd became louder with every second that went by.Investors, and visitors looked at each other with disdain, skepticism, and judgment on their faces.Rowland, standing in the middle of the storm, found it difficult to remain calm, his once-polished manner now crumbling under the tremendous strain.An investor sitting in the front row got up and spoke directly to Rowland. He spoke firmly but with a hint of doubt and curiosity. "If this man is not your father, why is he making such a claim? "What reason would he have to lie about something so important?"The question hung in the air, highlighting the gravity of the situation. Rowland adjusted his posture, his jaw tightening as he prepared to respond."I assure you, sir," he said, his voice steady but strained. "This man is not my father. I am not sure who he is or why he has come here t

The morning sun filtered through Mr. Fence's tall windows, casting long beams of light across the polished marble floor.Clinton sat comfortably in a plush armchair across from Mr. Fence, his posture relaxed but authoritative.Khalid, seated a few steps away from Mr. Fence, kept a neutral expression, but his sharp eyes did not miss anything as Clinton spoke. Khalid was aware of the importance of this meeting and had been briefed on the events of the day before. He decided to keep quiet for the time being so that Clinton could make his case.Clinton spoke in a measured, slightly worried tone to start."Father, I appreciate you seeing me on short notice. I would not have come here unless it was important. What happened at the presentation yesterday was disastrous for Fence Emerald, and I feel compelled to bring it to your attention."Mr. Fence leaned back in his seat, his expression unreadable. "I am listening. Go on."Clinton cleared his throat and looked at Khalid, who had a neutral

Clinton stormed out of Mr. Fence's room, his face etched with rage. The humiliation of being silent in front of Rowland and Khalid was unbearable.He slammed the door behind him, muttering curses under his breath as he walked to the parking lot. His steps were quick and forceful, echoing through the empty halls of Fence's large Maison.The journey home was no better; his knuckles whitened as he gripped the steering wheel, his mind racing with vengeance.Clinton was furious by the time he arrived at his home. He flung open the door and stepped inside, startling Amaya, who was sitting in the living room drinking tea.She looked up, her face brightening with concern as she saw the rage in her husband's eyes."What happened?" she inquired, setting her cup down and rising to greet him.Clinton paced back and forth, running his hand through his hair like a caged animal. "That man—Father—he supported Rowland again! He refused to listen to reason, and when I suggested Rowland's removal as pr

The next morning, the old man sat in the lobby of a small hospital, his mind clouded with memories of a life full of mistakes and regrets.His hands trembled as he clutched a photograph of his late wife, Isabella Dwin, whom he had not seen in decades.He had spent the night before piecing together fragments of his past, haunted by the possibility that he had mistakenly assumed his daughter had died with her mother during childbirth.When the nurse called his name, he stood up and determinedly followed her into the doctor's office. The doctor, an older man with a friendly but inquisitive expression, motioned for him to sit."How can I assist you today?" the doctor inquired, folding his hands over a stack of files.The old man leaned forward, his voice full of emotion. "I need to look into the records of a woman named Isabella Dwin. She was admitted to this facility several years ago. She... died while giving birth."“Who was she to you?”"She was my wife."The doctor furrowed his brow