We Have A Problem
The car ride back to Jake's house was suffocatingly quiet. Margaret sat rigid in the passenger seat, her sharp gaze burning into Jake's figure. Her fury was palpable, simmering just beneath her poised exterior.
How could he be so stupid? What was he thinking doing what he did? How could he? Margaret mused, her anger barely concealed.
When they finally arrived and stepped into the apartment, Margaret couldn't hold back any longer. She slammed her bag onto the coffee table, spinning around to face her son.
"Do you have any idea what you've just done?" she hissed, her voice sharp enough to slice through his lingering panic.
Jake flinched, loosening his tie as if the room had suddenly become too warm. "Mother, I—"
"Don't 'Mother' me!" she snapped, stepping closer. "You showed your hand too soon, Jake. If you weren't prepared to take Alex down in one blow, why did you even bother? Half measures only make you look incompetent."