A rotten rose

"Mr. Larsen, please! I beg you! Don't do this! I've a sick wife to take care of," a man in his early sixties begged. 

I was talking to Jason at the lobby, when Adrian strolled out of the elevator with that old man running behind him, pleading and crying. But not even an ounce of emotions softened his harsh features. With a careless manner, he walked as if no poor helpless man was running behind him for a glimpse of kindness. And his bodyguard, John, seemed equally disinterested.

"Mr. Larsen, please! Give me another chance. I swear, I won't give you any chance to complain!" he cried out, with his hands intertwined together before him as he begged.

"Enough!" Adrian bellowed. 

I flinched, so did the entire lobby around us. Eyes furious, he turned to that trembling man. 

"If you want to get a job somewhere else in near future, I'd suggest you get out of my sight right

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