Liam's POV
The screen glowed with Holbrook's name—a rare sight these days. Two weeks had passed since our last conversation, and his silence had spoken volumes.
"Richard," I answered, my voice raspy from disuse. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
A heavy sigh greeted me. "Liam. We need to talk."
"I gathered that much." I winced as I pushed myself upright, glancing at the clock: 9:37 AM. The half-empty bottle of whiskey from last night still sat on the coffee table, surrounded by discarded takeout containers and crumpled papers.
"I've been attempting to contact for the past few days," Holbrook said, his usually measured tone edged with something I hadn't heard before—defeat. "Regarding the offer we discussed... about renegotiating."
I reached for the whiskey, not bothering with a glass. "And?"
"And nothing, Liam. Absolutely nothing. No response, no acknowledgment." He paused. "I think it's time we face facts."
"Which are?" I took a bitter swig, welcoming the burn.
