After a journey of approximately twenty minutes, the convoy stopped in front of one of the buildings that served as a front for the family business.
The place was packed with journalists, all of them waiting with almost feverish anxiety for the appearance of one of the Aballay family members. They were looking for a statement they could exploit, distort, or turn into a sensational headline.
Cameras flashed, microphones were raised above heads, voices mingled with the crackle of flashbulbs and the constant murmur of reporters sharing theories, speculations, and unconfirmed information.
It was no secret that the Aballay family had lent the Esbarts a considerable sum of money. Nor was it a secret that the latter had defaulted on the loan.
That debt wasn't simply a financial transaction. It was a dividing line. A point of tension that now, with the recent scandal, threatened to spill over and taint everyone involved.
When the convoy stopped, Bentral was in charge of opening the vehicle's door. As soon as he did, a wave of reporters practically swarmed the alpha duo, questions raining down relentlessly, cameras intersecting the bodyguards.
The tumult wasn't unusual, and William would have felt a visceral contempt for the situation if he weren't already accustomed to this kind of reception. Those hungry faces were seeking answers on matters they had no right to comment on, but they didn't care.
Veronica raised both hands in an elegant yet firm gesture, her fingers spread, requesting silence without raising her voice. Her posture and aura of control took immediate effect.
Little by little, the hubbub transformed into a murmur and then into an expectant silence. When she spoke, it was with a measured cadence, carefully choosing each word. Her tone was serene, yet laced with a superficial compassion that no one with experience would believe genuine.
"Ladies and gentlemen, please remain calm…" he said, clasping his hands in front of his chest. His smile didn't reach his eyes, but that didn't seem to matter. "Of course, we are aware of what happened to the youngest member of the Esbart family; we consider it a true tragedy. The Aballay family extends its deepest condolences, and as a gesture of goodwill, we will offer an extension on the terms of any outstanding loans. From here, we deeply hope that young Brandon recovers quickly from the violence he suffered in his own home. And we sincerely hope that such a regrettable event will not be repeated… or escalate into something much worse."
The last words resonated with a double edge that didn't go unnoticed by those who knew how to read between the lines: a warning disguised as diplomacy, or a veiled promise that there would be consequences if the incident was used as an excuse to disrespect the established agreements.
William kept his face carefully controlled. It wasn't a fake mask, but an expression perfected over the years.
An impassive expression that not even the most incisive press could penetrate.
He followed his aunt closely, without saying a word, though he didn't need to, as Veronica had shut down any attempt at further questions. He made his way through the crowd with the ease of someone who had done this many times, and with a slight gesture of his hands, he indicated to the security detail that it was time to block the journalists.
The guards reacted instantly, placing themselves between the Aballays and the reporters, blocking their way with a human wall of dark suits and menacing stares.
William said goodbye to his aunt with a slight nod, without exchanging words. He walked leisurely toward the building's garage, knowing that Bentral was already waiting there with another vehicle, this time with Xander also present.
The new car was a Lexus GX 550 Luxury, painted in a discreet but elegant silver. As soon as the trio settled into the vehicle, two security cars pulled up behind them. One staying close, the other moving a block behind. The clear intention was to be discreet but ready to intervene if the situation required it.
As soon as they were moving, William received a briefcase from Xander. He began reviewing the documents inside, intending to use the drive to get some work done.
The dark-haired alpha generally didn't need to leave his office to manage important matters or really focus much on this sort of thing. After all, he had a trusted team keeping the structure running.
But recently, the acquisition of several charities has created an unexpected workload. The foundations were poorly managed, with unclear accounts and unsupervised employees, which required more direct intervention.
He had barely signed the second document when his cell phone vibrated. He didn't look at the screen and simply answered, letting out a sigh.
"What's up? I'm busy," he muttered dryly.
"Busy enough not to want to know about the situation of an omega that a certain dark-haired alpha asked me to investigate?" a playful voice answered, thick with mockery.
William closed his eyes for a moment. "Deimos..."
On the other end of the line, Deimos Pertant smiled. His voice had an almost sing-song quality, as if every word were part of a little show.
He was a twenty-four-year-old omega, with pink-tinted hair streaked with purple. His slim, soft body contrasted with the cunning of his mind; he gave off peach-scented pheromones, sweet and dangerous.
William had considered getting rid of him in the past and still fantasized about it when his patience wore thin. But he knew Deimos was valuable, extremely valuable.
"Just tell me what you accomplished. I don't have the time or energy to pretend to like your personality," William said, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"I think kindness is overrated in our dynamic, Aballay," Deimos chuckled cheekily. "Anyway, I'm calling to tell you that the omega you've had your eye on, in addition to working multiple jobs, has tried to apply to a famous bakery several times in the last year. She was rejected each time, which, of course, I decided to fix. We accepted her latest application at a new branch that, very conveniently, will be opening right down the block from your main bar."
William smiled coldly. "Do you already have the names of those responsible for Erika's rejection?"
"Of course," Deimos replied proudly. "I knew you'd want them, so I took the time to write them down for you while I reviewed her work history."
"Expect a generous reward in the next few days."
"Thanks, boss. It's always a pleasure to be rewarded for having fun… and if you need advice on how to treat an omega after so long without getting your fangs wet, don't hesitate to ask. Although…"
"Goodbye, Deimos," William interrupted, his tone flat.
"Wait!" Deimos shouted urgently, causing the alpha to raise an intrigued eyebrow. "Will you be at the club tonight?"
"Yes. I have some paperwork to sign."
"I figured so… listen, some rats have been wandering around. And the traps I set don't seem to be enough to catch them all."
"Really?" William narrowed his eyes. "Then we'd better call the exterminator and remind them of their proper place."
"Yes. Because if the rest of them start getting too brave, we'll have to cut corners. And it's not easy to find talented new foremen."
"Get some candidates ready… just in case."
"Yes, Captain! And I'll also find someone willing to give you specialized lessons for your lonely nights…"
William blinked slowly and then hung up. He didn't say anything. He just mumbled something to himself as he leaned his head back in the seat.