The delivery man quickly scanned the document, stating, "This is a divorce agreement, sent by Ms. Elizabeth Campbell, with instructions to deliver it directly to Mr. Elijah." The room's atmosphere tightened, as if an unseen force had struck Elijah and the others.

Lively conversation ceased, replaced by an uneasy silence. Eyes darted between the assembled, then lowered. Only Albin acted, taking the folder and tossing it to Elijah.

"Elijah, what did you do to upset her this time? She doesn't seem to be joking," he remarked, concern lacing his voice. Albin was curious, but wouldn't dare look inside. The law firm's logo on the thick envelope suggested serious matters.

In the dim light, Elijah's face seemed to vanish into shadow. Ignoring the folder, he poured and drank a glass of whiskey, carelessly spilling most of a vintage 1972 Macallan—worth 1.5 million—onto the floor. No one moved.

After a moment, Elijah set down his empty glass, his gaze narrowing on the unopened folder. "Is all this drama really just because of a missed call?" he muttered, disbelief and frustration coloring his voice.

The room remained still. Sandra straightened, gently taking the glass.

"This is all my fault," she murmured, regret heavy in her voice. "If not for my heart condition, my frail health, and those constant fevers that worry you, you wouldn't have missed her call." Tears welled in her eyes. "My illness has only brought you trouble. Ms. Elizabeth tried to reach you repeatedly this afternoon. Maybe she had something important to discuss."

Elijah responded coolly, "And what could possibly be so urgent? I saw her earlier tonight, and she seemed perfectly fine."

Albin interjected, "Are you both really this clueless about what's been all over the news? This afternoon, you say? There was a news report about an explosion in an old residential area downtown. If I remember correctly, didn't Elizabeth inherit an apartment in that area from her mother?"