"This is not fair, it can't be," said Carla as the vehicles belonging to Maximiliano Bastidas and his people entered the castle grounds and the museum that now belonged to him.She put on her gloves with discomfort and prepared her jacket to go out to face the mild weather. Maximilian watched her as long as he could without creating further discomfort between them. She seemed annoyed with him but at the same time with herself. In the only times he spoke to her, she ended up hitting herself with something, the card, the gloves... more than angry or nervous, she seemed anxious."What are you talking about?" he asked, ready to get out of the vehicle, which had stopped in front of an old building whose façade showed magnificence but, at the same time, ruin."I'm from here; I was born in this city. I lived half of my life in it, and it's taking me a while to get used to the climate, but you seem to have been in this city since before you were born."Max laughed lightly and put his hand on
"Brandon..." Max replied, shaking his hand. "Where's the rest of the staff?"Brandon sighed, putting his hands in his anorak pockets."They're part of the resignations, Mr. Bastidas." He looked uncomfortable about having to give such information.Carla smiled ungracefully and denied, not surprised by so many irregularities."OK," laughed Max. "Carla, I don't see any point in staying here, let's go...""Why have you been coming here?" she interrupted, the question directed to her ex.Max would not refute such an interruption, wanting to know the answer as well."Why don't we go inside?" the reporter proposed.Carla looked quickly at her husband, they both suspected that something very unusual was going on there. They were breathing a heavy atmosphere, they could feel it. Not only the newlyweds but also the chauffeur, who didn't leave the vehicles, and B.J., standing on the threshold of the entrance without taking his eyes off the outside but protecting his bosses at the same time. Max
They walked towards the museum, which was a few kilometers away. The whole structure itself, which used to belong to Fred Davison (now owned by Maximiliano Bastidas), used to be known as "The Castle", which—apart from being so—was nothing more than an exhibition of local, a place where works by renowned artists, but mostly from Great Britain, were supposed to be exhibited. However, Maximiliano didn't know important facts. One of the things he did not know, of which he was not informed before that visit, was that there were still objects inside that place, which was supposed to be empty. The businessman was notified of something very different, and Carla, being the owner of the percentage share of the foundation, was living in the structure. He was surprised that she was simply not notified at all, something that Maximiliano was just now corroborating: his wife never received the same document or folio as him and he was anxious to find out what was going on.As they walked, crossing gr
Maximiliano was silent for a brief moment, analyzing the information."Why are you telling me all this?""Because it's most likely that all those things were taken from there.""Who would take that stuff out of there?" Brandon didn't answer immediately. "Who?"The roar of a vehicle interrupted the diatribe between them. They all looked towards the path; they were closer to the museum than Max remembered. They only had to go around the previous building, and they would enter the last stretch of road where no vehicles were supposed to enter. That morning, almost noon, they realized (at least the newcomers) that this was not the case: vehicles could enter the museum, and how way."Watch out!" Max's shout went off, cut through the roads, and filled the other two men with alarm.Guard, businessman, and journalist immediately moved aside, almost falling to the ground on both sides, when an old white van full of mud sped off through the sea of grass and mud, sparking everyone to flee at full
"I deserve an explanation, where are you taking me?""Where do you think I'm taking you? Aren't you hurt? To the hospital," Max explained and took advantage of that answer to tell the driver where he needed to go.She snorted, but a headache shot through her skull. Max shook his head in exasperation. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed Peter's number, who answered in less than three rings."I'm sick of this shit!" Max snapped into the phone, no longer caring if his driver heard everything. "There's too much misinformation here and Carla is bleeding! Yeah, Carla's hurt, yeah! Fuck! Some assholes stealing stuff from the museum that I didn't even know we had. They did everything like vile criminals and that Brandon..." He looked at Carla. "Investigate, do your own thing. That idiot told me what was going on already when we were about to find out."He heard Peter say that he feared the reporter tried to duck the issue by wanting to confess, but he knew about the robbery, so he was in
Daniel Glint lived in an apartment the size of a large house. The place had a terrace adorned with flowers and even a concept space to the left, with lawn chairs set up there, giving the feeling of not being high up, but flush to the ground. Of course, he owned much more, but he adored that apartment. He always embraced the idea of being close to the original GLINT bar, his office, and his workplace. Owning vehicles of various sizes and colors, and a staff to work around the clock, people who could bring him to and from wherever he wanted, was not important to him as long as he could walk to the nightclub, as long as he could enjoy the scenery of the city he loved.Daniel was the epitome of simplicity and opulence, of hard work and relentless leisure, of having a pleasant yet pedantic attitude, a compendium of everything, he was a very curious character. Daniel laughed out loud, made jokes, cracked the best jokes, and had outlandish and crazy ideas for almost every aspect of his life,
Maximiliano left the restaurant escorted by a couple of his bodyguards. The exit was made from the back.The protocol changed, since inside that place, which he knew very well, casually met an old friend. He had dinner with her and shared a couple of drinks but could not shake off the uneasiness of the argument with his wife.Max was not a guy who liked to argue, and it seemed strange that he did it constantly with her, who, it seemed, didn't much like conflict either. But together they were explosive, seeming not to put up with each other most of the time. Getting married for a commitment very different from love was the worst decision made. "Imposition," he corrected himself when he thought about it. And the worst was knowing that they liked each other. He couldn't obviate or forget all the kisses (for him, too few), that touch of her hands on his body, her gasping words, her resigned face understanding that they might as well move on, but her being truly mature in stopping, knowing
Carla left the underwear tucked between Max's pants on the floor. She grunted, turned around, and went back the way she had come, walking hurriedly towards the elevator area, passing in front of the bellboy, who raised his eyebrows when he noticed the tenant's enervation.Maximiliano set about picking up the rest of the things, still laughing his head off, trying to calm down and moving on. When he was about to cross to the right, he saw B.J., who was getting up from one of the gym benches."Sir, good evening again, sorry for the interruption."Maximiliano wondered how long the bodyguard had been there. Had he heard everything? Had he been as amused as was by the silly discussion?"What is that?" Max asked when he saw a box in the bodyguard's hands, wrapped in brown paper with gold details.The bodyguard cleared his throat before explaining."This package has arrived from Spain, sir. We've scanned it and discovered that it's a couple of bottles.""Liquor? Okay, so what's the big deal