The Heart System Chapter 599

I slowed the car and pulled into the very same parking spot as before. Thankfully, no irate elderly woman attempted to mug me tonight. After silencing the engine, I exited the vehicle.

The sun dipped below the horizon, bathing the sky in vivid oranges and fiery reds. A chill wind began to blow, and a light rain started to fall, its gentle patter drumming against the leaves and asphalt.

I made haste toward the gates. A quick glance confirmed I was unobserved, so I scaled the barrier and landed with a soft thud on the other side. Staying low, I advanced on the house with caution, prepared to deploy Time Stop at a moment's notice.

"Hmm... why is it so quiet?" I whispered to myself.

As I drew nearer, my attention was caught by a car parked haphazardly in front of the residence, its wheels crushing a portion of the garden flowers. Certainly not a discreet parking maneuver.

I crouched down, moving stealthily toward the main entrance. The door was already slightly ajar. Carefully, I nudged it open and peered into the interior. The house was in disarray. The television screen bore a spiderweb of cracks, the couches were askew, and a lamp lay in pieces on the floor. What... had transpired here?

A voice emanated from upstairs, engaged in conversation.

I slipped inside and ascended the staircase deliberately, ensuring each footfall was silent. The voice grew louder and more distinct with every step. By the time I reached the midpoint, I recognized it as Jack's.

"No, no, no... shit!"

Panic laced his tone.

Reaching the summit of the stairs, I turned left. It was then that the scene unfolded before me: a substantial pool of blood stained the wooden floor, accompanied by a trail of crimson drag marks leading towards a closed door at the hall's terminus.

*Holy hell...*

I edged closer, dropped to my knees, and peered through the keyhole.

Within the confines of the bedroom, Jack was a figure of frantic pacing, perspiration beading on his forehead. On the floor lay a man, presumably Robert. Blood seeped through his shirt from a wound in his upper torso. He was motionless.

Jack collapsed onto one knee beside the body, his trembling hands reaching out to touch Robert's face.

"Please, please, please..." Jack pleaded in a voice thick with desperation. "Oh god..."

"Do not touch the body!" a sharp command cut through the air from Jack's phone. "Await our arrival. We will handle the cleanup and all associated matters."

"Dad, hurry, please!" Jack wailed. "I think he's still alive!"

"You ungrateful wretch..." the man on the phone spat. "A man?! YOU... YOU..."

"JUST SEND SOMEONE OVER, DAD!"

"Already dispatc—"

The call abruptly ceased. Jack ran his bloodied hands over his t-shirt and moved toward the window, muttering incoherently to himself.

Just then, the unmistakable sound of multiple vehicles arriving outside the house reached my ears.

*Damn. Visitors.*

I surveyed my surroundings, seeking a concealment point. The corridor offered few options, so I quickly retreated into the room where we had previously stashed the camera. Mercifully, the door was unlocked. I entered, leaving it slightly ajar, allowing just enough of a gap for me to observe.

Moments later, the door to Jack's bedroom swung open.

He emerged first, his countenance ashen and strained. His hair was disheveled, suggesting he had repeatedly run his hands through it. He cast frequent, anxious glances back into the room, his breathing ragged.

Then, footsteps echoed from the lower level.

Not just one set. Multiple.

Four men ascended the stairs, clad uniformly in dark suits. Their broad shoulders and stern expressions, coupled with their earpieces, marked them as professionals. They advanced with clear intent, their eyes sweeping the hallway as they approached Jack.

And following them was another man.

Older. Tall. His silver hair was meticulously slicked back. He wore an expensive coat, and despite his advanced years, his jawline remained sharp. He bore the unmistakable air of a wealthy magnate, the sort often gracing magazine covers, espousing virtues of morality and family while orchestrating ruin behind closed doors.

The instant Jack's gaze met his, Jack's composure crumbled.

"Father," Jack managed, his voice weak. "I'm—"

The resounding slap echoed through the hallway.

The old man's strike was so forceful that Jack staggered sideways, colliding with the wall.

"YOU'RE GAY?!" the man bellowed, his voice quivering with incandescent rage. "Sweet heaven, Jack. Sweet heaven! What abhorrent filth have you brought into this family?"

Jack lowered his head, his hand pressed against the stinging side of his face.

His father turned away briefly, rubbing his forehead as if suppressing an imminent eruption. The four men in suits remained impassive, seemingly oblivious to the unfolding drama.

"You shame yourself," the elder continued, his voice laced with contempt. "You dishonor your mother's memory. You bring disgrace upon our name. After all I have provided, this is the culmination of your existence?"

Jack swallowed with difficulty. "Father, please. Robert is still alive."

"Alive?" the man scoffed, pivoting back to face his son. "Are you bereft of reason? Do you comprehend the ramifications should this become public knowledge? About him? About you?"

"We must save him," Jack implored, his voice strained. "Please."

The old man glanced at the suited men. "Leave him."

Not a single one moved.