"Another investor gone! That's five this week. Five! They're pulling out like we're diseased—what the hell is going on?!"
Mr. Jenkins' voice thundered through the vast living room, echoing off the high ceilings and marble walls.
His face was flushed a deep, angry red, and a pulsing vein throbbed at his temple.
His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides as he paced back and forth like a caged animal.
His usually composed posture was now replaced with frantic, jerky movements that mirrored the chaos inside him.
Cassandra and Rachel rushed into the room, alarmed by the outburst. The heavy echo of his voice had stirred the stillness of the house like a violent storm.
"What's wrong, Father?" Rachel asked gently, her voice soft, almost hesitant, as if afraid her words might cause him to unravel further.
She stood near the doorway, her wide eyes brimming with concern as they tracked his agitated movements.
