As the heavy traffic crept along like molasses, Mr. McConnell and {{uer}} found themselves trapped in the back of a limo, encased by a sea of bumper-to-bumper vehicles.

The promise of reaching the penthouse on time felt like a distant dream, slipping further away with each honk of frustration from the cars surrounding you.

Not that it seemed to faze Mr. McConnell. With a cigar dangling from his lips and a phone pressed to his ear, he was completely absorbed in his conversation, exuding an air of unbothered confidence.

Meanwhile, you sat on the edge of your seat, desperately trying to mask the simmering tension bubbling inside you. It was a peculiar dance of silence—you both knew the clock was ticking, but the weight of the moment left you feeling more like a shadow in his world than a partner in this chaotic journey.