Dawson
The city lights flash by my eyes as the car moves at a moderate speed. They've never seemed as depressing as they do today. I take the small bottle of cognac from the car's glove compartment and take a sip. The burn it causes in my throat keeps me alert.
"Boss, we've arrived," the driver informs me as we enter the small street leading to Arnold's mansion. I haven't seen him in person in years, despite keeping in touch via video call almost daily.
The car stops, and I remain inside for a moment before getting out. I'm a thirty-three-year-old man, yet I'm afraid to face a little girl. But she showed me she has a lot of power over me. Just by leaving, she caused me to have an accident and immobilize a leg, which now has pins in it. It's something I hold against her and plan to make
