His Desperate Version

Dylan suddenly rolled his eyes as though he was avoiding making eye-to-eye contact with me. Instead of my face, he fixed his eyes on the screens above us.

"Why aren't you answering, Mr. Spencer?" I added, this time, in a demanding tone. Unfortunately, my furious tone melted after seeing his wounded chest filled with bandages. "By the way, are you sure you can start working now with your condition?"

Before saying a word, Dylan slid to the computer keyboard and operated the CCTV footage. He pressed a lot of keys as though he knew what he was doing until the footage stopped at the part when someone sneaked into our office.

The balls of my eyes remained dilated when my instinct about Ghino had something to do with the original copies of the company's AFS (Annual Financial Statements).

He opened the door of the office with a spare key, which I have no idea where he got one, and slid closer to my desk. Then he checked and scanned those documents one by one. He halted fo