You are under arrest for the attempted murder of Mr. Linton. You have the right to remain silent." The detective's voice cut through the air like a blade as he clamped the handcuffs around the criminal's wrists. This was a flashback, one that played vividly in Mr. Linton's mind as he stood on the balcony of his sprawling estate. The gulf estate, one of the largest and most opulent in all of England, stretched out before him like a kingdom. At 67, his silver hair glinted in the sunlight, but his thoughts were far from serene. He was reliving the day his brother, Peeta Brian, had been arrested and sentenced to six years in prison. "Mr. Peeta Brian, you have been found guilty of the attempted murder of Mr. Linton and are hereby sentenced to six years imprisonment," the judge declared, her voice cold and final as she slammed the gavel down. The sound echoed like a death knell. The police escorted Brian toward the exit, his head bowed as cameras flashed and reporters shouted questions. "Mr. Linton! Mr. Linton!" one reporter called out, shoving a microphone in his face. "What do you think will be the fate of your brother after his prison sentence? Do you believe he'll be rehabilitated?" Mr. Linton's jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing as he faced the reporter. "Society sends people like Brian to jail because they don't deserve to live among civilized people. Prison is another world, another universe meant for those who refuse to play by the rules. And without a doubt, that's where Brian belongs. If he's ever discharged and deemed fit to rejoin society, we'll see if he's truly changed—if he doesn't rot in there first." His words were sharp, cutting through the air like a whip. The pressure of the moment became too much, and his assistant quickly stepped in, ushering him toward his waiting Mercedes.
Today was the day. Peeta Brian was being released after serving his sentence, and the news had already gone viral across England. As he stepped out of the prison gates, a figure approached him, hand extended. "Good day, Mr. Brian. How has life treated you so far?" the man asked, his tone casual but his eyes sharp. Brian shook the man's hand, a faint smile playing on his lips. "It's been a long time. I'll need to realign myself with the rhythms of society," he replied, his voice calm but laced with an edge of determination. The two walked toward a waiting car, its engine purring softly. "Mr. Henderson," Brian began as they settled into the backseat, "how is my brother doing?" Henderson hesitated, then sighed. "Never thought you'd ask. He's been under the weather for the past six months—breathing issues, mostly." Brian chuckled softly; a sound devoid of humor. "Never expected that," he murmured, his gaze fixed on the passing scenery. The car pulled up in front of a modest apartment. "This is where I leave you, Brian," Henderson said, handing him a set of keys. "Try to stay out of trouble. You've just gotten out of jail, after all." Brian stepped out of the car, his eyes scanning the building before him. "Home sweet home," he muttered under his breath. He entered the apartment, his footsteps echoing in the empty space. His eyes fell on a portrait hanging on the wall—a painting of his brother, Mr. Linton. "Soon, brother," Brian whispered, his voice low and menacing. "The darkest light is yet to shine."
The phone on the side table rang incessantly, its shrill tone cutting through the quiet of the room. Ellen, the maid, hurried to answer it. "Hello? Who's calling, please?" she asked, her voice tinged with curiosity. "Hello, Ellen. Put Mr. Linton on the line," the caller demanded, his voice familiar yet unsettling. Ellen's heart skipped a beat as she glanced at the unfamiliar number. She approached Mr. Linton, who was seated at the dining table, savoring his breakfast. "Sir, you have a call," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "Who is it?" he asked, his tone impatient. "I have a tight schedule today. Tell them I'm busy." "It's… it's your brother. It's Mr. Brian," Ellen stammered, her words barely audible. A heavy silence filled the room. Mr. Linton stood abruptly, snatching the phone from her hands. "What do you want from me?" he barked;, his voice laced with anger. "Are you here to finish what you started?"Mr. Linton stared at the phone, his knuckles white as he gripped it tightly. Without another word, he hung up. "Ellen, fetch my suitcase. I have a meeting to attend," he said curtly, his voice betraying none of the turmoil he felt.