A Mother's Plea
Clara stormed into Gerald's office, her heels clicking sharply against the smooth marble floor. Oliver barely had time to greet her before she pushed through the door, her eyes blazing with fury. Gerald, seated behind his massive desk, looked up in surprise, his expression quickly shifting from confusion to a guarded mask. His mother's sudden arrival was not something he had anticipated.
"Mom," he greeted. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Clara didn't bother sitting down. She stood in front of his desk, her hands on her hips, her gaze sharp enough to cut glass. "Don't play games with me, Gerald. You know exactly why I'm here."
Gerald sat at his desk, staring blankly at the door his mother had just walked out of. Clara's words echoed in his mind, and he let out an annoyed sigh, leaning back in his chair. He rubbed his temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache forming. He knew exactly what his mother would demand of him after this confrontation.