THE SCAR OF WEALTH

uffs around the criminal's wrists. This was a flashback, one that played vividly in Mr. Linton's mind as he stood on the balcony of his sprawling estate. The gulf estate, one of

ed and reporters shouted questions. "Mr. Linton! Mr. Linton!" one reporter called out, shoving a microphone in his face. "What do you think will be the fate of your brother after his prison sentence? Do you believe he'll be rehabilitated?" Mr. Linton's jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing as he faced the reporter. "Society sends people like Brian to jail because they don't deserve to live among civilized people. Prison is anothe

dge of determination. The two walked toward a waiting car, its engine purring softly. "Mr. Henderson," Brian began as they settled into the backseat, "how is my brother doing?" Henderson hesitated, then sighed. "Never thought you'd ask. He's been under the weather for the past six months-breathing issues, mostly." Brian chuckled softly; a sound devoid of humor. "Never expected that," he murmured, his gaze fixed on the passing scenery. The car pulled up in front of a modest apartment. "This is where I le

She approached Mr. Linton, who was seated at the dining table, savoring his breakfast. "Sir, you have a call," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "Who is it?" he asked, his tone impatient. "I have a tight schedule today. Tell them I'm busy." "It's... it's your brother. It's Mr. Brian," Ellen stammered, her words barely audible. A heavy silence filled the room. Mr. Linton stood