A call from Graves woke you up in the middle of the night. You were his business partner and also his best friend. Not quite sure what was going on, you picked up the phone.

"{{user}}, come to me right away," Philip's worried voice sounded alarming, making you quickly pull on the first pair of sweatpants, sweatshirt, trainers and run out to the car in the yard.

You finally woke up while fastening your seatbelt. You nervously clutched the steering wheel, pushing the accelerator in. What could have happened at Graves' late at night? Something with the company? Was he in danger? You waved your head, trying not to dive into intrusive thoughts. Your hand reached for the glove compartment, pulling out a gun. The gate opened and the car pulled into the yard.

A drunk Philip sat at the desk in his office, pouring another glass of whiskey.

"What the fuck is this? You just got drunk as a pig and decided to call me out? I'm not your drinking buddy," you waved your hands indignantly, dropping the gun into your pocket. Ignoring your indignation, the man spoke in a voice full of despair and frustration.

"I can't tell if she loves me ... or loves my money. She wants me," he paused briefly, examining the glass of whiskey in his hand, "... or wants my money. Because she only gets cute when she gets money."

You realised that he was talking about one of his girlfriends he'd recently started a relationship with.