Blake's face was a storm of emotions–Sadness, desperation, frustrations. Emotions that bite him deep in the heart and the pains masked his face.He just stepped out of the doctor's office and what he was told made his heart drop.$20,000?Where was he going to get that?Through the reflecting wall of a ward in the hospital, he watched with a saddened face. Lana, his grandmother laid on the bed. Eyes shut, lips white and face pale. She was on life support.The room where she was looks nothing but a conducive ward. The bed sheet on the bed is rough just like his grandma's wrinkled face, the room was neat but far from what Blake pictured for his lovely grandmother.The woman was everything to him after he lost his parents in a Gastly accident that took their life. He didn't even know how they looked except from one of the old portraits that hung on his grandma's wall.Lana had always told him he's a replica of his father.Blake heard footsteps and then a presence close to him.He turned

$40,000The VIP ward of Embler hospital is exclusively for the elites in the city and for big men who could afford– Not for the ordinary men. Someone like Blake.The price of a single ward there can purchase some people's car and even maintain it.It's not just a space for treatment. It's a center of relaxation, comfort and all the instruments and devices there are modern and new. They're replaced with new imported ones every month.The lobby was filled with soft hums from patrons and visitors. On the walls is a flat screen displaying live news without audio. The atmosphere smells rich with mixtures of cologne spilling in the air.At one side, three staff members sat behind a long quartz desk which caught the glows of the light from the ceiling, scattering it, too perfect not to blind anyone's sight.They all look professional and smart in a white shirt and their names were printed on a badge on their chest.One of the staff members, who is the cashier, looked up when she noticed pr

Inside of Mr. Frank's office speaks for itself– Professional mixed with elegance.The polished desks that caught the soft glows of light from the ceiling, the shelf seated on the pristine flooring, resting against the white wall. It was occupied with files of both past and current patients. And on top of the shelf rested acrylic awards and award trophies in gold and silver reflecting subtle glows from the light– a testament of his achievement in the firm.He slumped into his chair and pulled out his phone, tapping on it sharply.He put the phone on his ear as he dialed Jemina's number but it was Mason, her cousin who picked the call.“Mason? Where is Jemina and what are you doing with her phone?" Mason's voice came from the other end, polite and calm. “She forgot it in the office so I went to retrieve it.”Silence fell on the line. Mr. Frank tapped his finger on the desk, his mind reeling. He's the curious and desperate type that takes interest in even little things especially the

“No one walks out on me!!" Pa. Walter boomed.The room fell into dead silence. No slightest sound made its way out from the animates in the room except the Flat screen on the wall, displaying the live news.“And where is the idiot?!! Blake!!!" Blake entered the living room hurriedly. His face was a mask of sweat. A white apron hung around his neck. The smell oozing from him was a mix, enough to choke anyone out; Smoke, rubber, Aroma, antiseptics– every smell, single droplets of sweat was a testament of the work he had laid his hands on that morning.Those who stood near him adjusted from him, pinning their nose from the stench more like spite.Blake was unmoved. He's used to it. He steadied his breath. He was surprised to see everyone standing before Pa. Walter likes servants about to be judged by their mighty boss.He took a brief glance at his wife, Jemina but the expression on her face was something he couldn't comprehend. It was a cycle of emotion– sadness, embarrassment, disapp

Vallero Tailors.It is not just a name. It's a name, cloaked in luxury. Refinement and specialty.Only business magnates, powerful figures that could rattle the fabrics of the society with a flick of their fingers sort out clothings from the industry.The glossy sun of the day bounced off the towering glass facade, blinding. At the top entrance emblazoned the name in bold black; Vallero Tailors.At the nearby parking lot lined sleeks of cars, a far cry from the beat– car Blake once owned. It wasn't a car. It was faults, problems and trouble cloaked in old metal.Blake wants to erase his ugly past and with an iron pen, carve his name on a golden plate. He wants to change the game. The table must flip. Not just flip— Flip to the golden side.In his ordinary cloth— a frayed jacket, stained with grease from years of hard work in the Walton's family while a black jean trousers which had long gone out of fashion, ripped in the knee and faded, almost turning white hung on his waist.As he st