The atmosphere was tense, to say the least.
Yates, stuck between the two men, felt the awkwardness settle on his shoulders like a heavy coat.
Thankfully, the arrival of the waiter with their food offered a brief reprieve, breaking the uncomfortable silence.
“Let’s eat,” Yates suggested, trying to sound upbeat.
Neither of the other men moved even a muscle.
They hadn’t come here for the meal, and it was obvious.
Yates glanced at Timothy, then at Vince. He had no idea what had transpired the night before, so he assumed Vince was at fault—coveting Timothy’s wife, perhaps. Hoping to smooth things over, Yates shot Vince a discreet look, urging him to say something, to take the first step.
They were friends, after all. In Yates’s mind, no matter how big the problem, it could be talked down, brushed aside, and life would move on.
But Vince didn’t even acknowledge him.
Instead, it was Timothy who spoke first. “Where is she?”
Yates stared at Timothy, startled.
What on earth had happened?
Vince’s tone was biting. “Aren’t you supposed to be resourceful? What’s the matter—can’t find her?”
Vince had arranged for Jessica to stay at a hotel owned by The Zimmerman Group, but left no record of her check-in. There was no way Timothy could track her down easily.
Yates tried to intervene, “Vince, let’s not make this any worse.”
But Timothy cut him off. “It’s all right. I was the one who made the mistake.”
Yates was dumbfounded.
This was clearly Vince hiding Timothy’s wife, yet Timothy wasn’t even angry. He was actually admitting fault?
Timothy continued, “If I don’t find her and explain things, this will only get messier. Please, just tell me where she is.”
Even if Vince had stabbed him in the back, Timothy didn’t seem to care.
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