Henry Shipton was already awake, leaning against the headboard, idly playing a match-three game on his phone, waiting for the arrival of someone.
A visitor arrived late at night wearing a gentleman's hat, brim pulled low, hiding the upper half of his face in shadow.
He carried a fruit basket in his hand, put it down, took off his hat, revealing a not unfamiliar face.
It was the same person he had met a few hours ago, the man who lent Len Shipton money at the casino.
"Where is he?" Henry Shipton glanced up at him, then continued looking down at his phone.
"Everything is going according to plan, no surprises." The man sat down of his own accord and replied.
"Alright, please keep an eye on it, make sure there are no mistakes," Henry Shipton said.
"Rest assured, Mr. Shipton, I'm a professional. Since I accepted your job, it'll be done without a hitch," the man said.
"I have faith in your professionalism, and that the people you have handling this matter are trustworthy."
