Milo was currently being wheeled down the corridor in a transfer trolley. His features were twisted in pain, and an oxygen mask had been strapped over the lower half of his face, he was bleeding profusely from the gunshot wound in his abdomen.

Jerome was running after the trolley. For the past twenty years, he might be a force to be reckoned with in the business world, but now, he was nothing more than a worried father.

He watched the blood flow from Milo's wound, and he felt as though he was walking on knives with every step that he took. The pain seemed to stab through his entire body,...