Harold's complexion paled. Never had he imagined that his carefully laid plan would be unraveled by the man before him.

For the first time, Harold found himself unnerved.

“What are you implying, Mr. Fowler?"

Waylen calmly retrieved a cigarette, igniting it with practiced ease. After a deliberate inhale, he exhaled a plume of smoke, his smile enigmatic.

"You understand me well enough, Harold. Don't ask how I've come to know. I bear no ill wilt."