Grave No. 4897

"Why hasn't this project been completed yet? I anticipated it would be finished by now!"

"I apologized for the delay. I tried to complete it on time, but I was unable to finish the project as expected."

"I didn't want excuses! I assigned you this task with a deadline, and your inability to deliver caused major setbacks for the entire team. I need this project completed as soon as possible."

"Understood, sir. I made it my top priority to complete the project as soon as possible."

"I employed you intending to generate profits, not to hear excuses. Only profits and money."

"Due to challenging market conditions, we were devising strategies to enhance our revenue."

"Strategies? I wasn't interested in hearing about strategies; I wanted tangible profits! Your excuses or market conditions held no importance to me."

In anticipation, he tapped the small nameplate on the glass table before his employee, Francis Robert Lee, and introduced himself. "I am Brax Pizarro."

Francis squinted his eyes as he read the nameplate, and his gaze landed on the person occupying the boss's chair. With messy hair and plain attire, this individual audaciously referred to himself as Francis's boss. He shifted his gaze back to the nameplate and quietly uttered the name inscribed on it: 'G. Paul Harris.'

"Brax."

"Brax."

"Brax Pizarro."

Suddenly, he jolted awake as someone vigorously shook him from his slumber. His eyes struggled to open, and he looked up at the silhouette standing over him. What had started as a shocked expression twisted into something intimidating? The first thing that crossed his mind was how his friend looked like a giant bat-an actual giant bat! His thoughts were interrupted when the figure asked, in a gruff voice filled with sarcasm, "What did you dream about this time?"

"Nothing," Brax groaned.

"Nothing, eh? You always had nightmares. This must be the first one where you didn't remember your own dreams," Henry chuckled. Henry leaned over Brax and propped his elbow on his bed. He was a man in his late thirties with deep black eyes and light brown, messy curls that partially obscured his face. Though clean-shaven, his skin was deeply tanned from years spent in the tropics. He dressed in loose, form-fitting blue jeans, a white button-down shirt, and a black blazer with silver studs scattered throughout the collar and cuffs. A pair of brown boots were worn underneath his clothes. It seemed as if he had just come straight from his night shift.

"But anyway, why did you wake me up this early morning? Didn't you sleep well last night?" Brax asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and repeating his question, still feeling groggy.

"The boss arrived and summoned you to his office," Henry replied, flashing his row of teeth.

"Is he here?" Brax's eyes, which were only partially open, suddenly widened.

"Yes, and he also had your file," Henry said joyfully, placing his hand on Brax's shoulder. "It seems that your loan will be approved this time."

As Henry's words sank in, Brax felt a sudden rush of excitement. The loan he had been anxiously anticipating, the one that held the potential to rescue his family, was about to be granted. A wave of relief flooded over him, washing away the months of anxiety that had burdened him. Suddenly, the pressure that weighed down on his shoulders seemed less burdensome and more liberating. Henry noticed that his friend looked a little too excited to have good news coming in. But he couldn't blame him; Brax had been looking forward to the loan all along. They both knew that there was nothing they could do but wait for the inevitable results.

Filled with newfound optimism, Brax quickly tidied his appearance, smoothing his blue checkered shirt and fixing his wavy black hair as he headed toward the boss's office. Along the way, he untangled the jumble of thoughts in his mind and began formulating plans for how to utilize the loan.

With his hand firmly grasping the doorknob, he glanced at his boss's nameplate, which read 'G. Paul Harris.' After giving the door a gentle knock, he turned the knob and entered the office.

Boss Paul peered at him from above his glasses and gestured for him to enter. He held a file in his hands, the name clearly written on the front page.

G. Paul Harris exuded a sense of style, sporting a Dior watch that hinted at his wealth. His age could be estimated from the few wrinkles around his eyes; he appeared to be at least 50 years old. He wasn't one of those people who always wore black and white clothes like an artist in a painting.

"Sir, has my loan been approved?" he inquired about the status of his loan immediately upon arrival.

"I submitted your application to the chairman, but unfortunately, your loan was rejected once again," Paul responded.

"But why, sir? I included all my hardships in the application; my mother is currently in the hospital, and..."

"Lie!" Paul interjected, raising his voice. "You are deceiving us; your mother passed away six years ago."

Upon hearing this, Brax cast his gaze downward, feeling devoid of any further inquiries. He was well aware that he had committed a serious error by concocting his mother's condition. Desperation had clouded his rationality, and now he had to confront the repercussions.

Paul furiously tossed his loan file onto the glass table, his gaze fixed on the computer screen before him. The bright light illuminated his face, revealing his own reflection staring back at him. The expression etched on his face was far from joyful, with his lips tightly pressed together. It meant he didn't want to discuss the issue any further. He always did this whenever one of his employees made a mistake-he buried himself in work and remained silent. Brax collected his file and exited the office with heavy strides. Each step became increasingly burdensome for him.

"What happened? Did you get a loan?" Henry inquired as he emerged, but his words trailed off upon seeing Brax's expression. "Seriously, again? I don't know how many times you've applied, but still? This G. Paul is something else." He shook his head in disappointment.

"It's fine," Brax responded, his voice trembling slightly. "I... I'm going home now." He placed the file against Henry's chest and proceeded to pack his belongings from the desk.

Henry grabbed the file and opened it, his eyes widening in astonishment upon seeing its contents. "10 million?" he exclaimed, glancing at Brax, who wore a vacant expression.

"How were you planning to repay such a substantial loan if you had gotten it?"

Brax silently continued packing his things. He had no answer to Henry's question. Though he appeared composed, Henry could discern the slight trembling in the taller man's hands.

"What's this?" Henry picked up another document from the file and examined it. "A termination letter?" His voice resonated with more anger than surprise toward their boss, Paul.

"How can he terminate your employment simply for requesting a loan? I will speak to him," Henry made his way out of the room, but Brax quickly intervened, grasping Henry's hand to prevent him from taking action. "If you get involved, you will also lose your job, so let it go."

"But let me have a conversation with him," Henry insisted, freeing his arm from Brax's grip.

"Actually, it was my mistake," Brax admitted, avoiding eye contact.

"Is it really your fault? How could it be?" Henry attempted to meet Brax's gaze.

"It's entirely my fault. I lied when applying for the loan," Brax confessed quietly. He glanced sideways and met Henry's curious stare once more.

"You did what?" Henry exclaimed, astounded.

Brax took a deep breath before continuing, "I said I lied."