The Machinations Of Greed

Lost and Found

"...Thanks for the care."

He comments quietly, putting on the jeans he wore yesterday. Seating himself at the end of the bed, he puts on a pair of black sneakers.

"...Where's my phone?"

"Probably in the kitchen."

"...Alright, I'll go get it..."

Heading towards the kitchen, he finds it on the countertop. Turning it on, the screen displays his lock screen, a picture of him and Evelyn, happily taking a selfie while using the sea as a backdrop. A beautiful, red morning sun shines between their heads.

Scarlet light reflects off the wavy sea, drawing a line of bright vermilion mixed with a gradien sort of orange.

He smiles, reminiscing, but it fades as the screen turns to present a name, as well as a red button, and a green one.

He puts the device up against his ear, gaze drifting through his view as he turns back around.

"...Gibson?"

He talks into it, listening closely as a buzzing voice is emitted from its speaker in return.

"...Alright. I'll see you in, I dunno, twenty minutes."

Heading for the door, he takes one last gander at Sarah and Evelyn, smiling widely, before pulling down on the handle.

"See you."

Walking down the stairs of his flat, he holds onto the railing, and soon reaches the outside, his pupils contracting as he grows accustomed to the brightness of the sunny world around him.

Many a people walk by, diverse and all clothed in different styles and colours, with different faces, different wishes, and most importantly, different lives.

His gaze falls to what's ahead of him, his same old car. Entering it, he pulls his seatbelt around his waist and shoulder, before driving off.

.
.
.

Some time later, and there it is. A rundown, two story house, the kinds of which you'd find exactly where it is. Close to the outskirts of the city. A small, slummy place, with grey walls, and a grey tiled roof. Generic, four paned windows with wooden frames painted in white, damaged by time dot the front of it.

Further on, the small wooden fence, appearing just the same as the windows, and the shoddy gate that's barely held by its hinges. A police officer stands near the entryway, keeping guard.

Parking on the other side of the road, Adam exits the vehicle, taking his ID and phone with him.

"...Good morning, Officer."

He exchanges nods with the man, showing his badge.

"Good morning, Lieutenant."

Passing through the gate, he finds an older man standing on the porch. His greying hair, seeming to originally have been black, and the dark blue eyes tell a story about him, though, at the same time, his large, rounded belly tell the opposite. He's dressed in a grey, striped sweater and some black trousers. He's eating form a plastic, transparent bag of pistachios.

"...Morning, Gibson. How's it going?"

He walks up the porch stairs, holding his gaze and extending an arm out for a handshake. The man puts his pistachios on the railing of the porch, though pocketing some for later, before cleaning his hands against his thighs and shaking his hand.

"I'm doing well, Adam. You look good too, so I'm guessing Evelyn didn't give you a fucking slap over the head."

The man, now named Gibson, gives him a smirk, showing off the follicles of hair protruding from his jaw, indicating a somewhat freshly shaved beard. Even so, his attempt at a good appearance isn't saved by the bags under his eyes, nor by the ends of his lips as they lay just barely curved downwards.