The syringe hissed as Irwin plunged it into his thigh without hesitation.
"No, don't-!" Fletcher Sr.'s voice thundered across the dining hall, but it was too late.
The drug hit instantly.
Isaac's father clenched his jaw, the lines in his face deepening. He looked furious - no, disappointed. The son he'd spent years moulding into a perfect successor was losing control in front of everyone.
'Irwin, you fool,' the thought burned through his skull. The bald man's cold composure cracked, if only for a moment. His eyes flicked toward Isaac, his other son he'd deemed too soft, and there was something unreadable there.
A question, perhaps. A calculation.
Isaac could read it easily. 'He's thinking about how best to spin this, even now.' That ruthless mind of his was always working, and if anything, he seemed curious to see how things would turn out
There was no need to call more guards or for things to get more out of control, he would just let things happen and clean up the mess.
