The boy tried to step forward, but the guards tightened their grip. Robert saw the kid wince in pain as thick fingers dug into his arms.
“I said… my father had a watch just like yours, sir,” the boy repeated—this time louder, steadier.
“I saw it when you walked past outside. It’s identical. Even the letters engraved on the back.”
The entire restaurant went silent.
Conversations stopped. Servers froze mid-step. Even the background music seemed to fade, as if the universe itself was holding its breath.
“What letters?” Robert whispered—though he already knew.
His heart pounded so violently it felt like it might tear free.
“RMM,” the boy said without hesitation.
“Robert Mitchell for Michael. My dad showed it to me a thousand times. He said it was the most important gift he ever received. Said it was the only thing he had left from his family.”
Robert’s legs nearly gave out.
Thomas jumped up to support him, asking if he needed a doctor, but Robert heard nothing except the roaring blood in his ears.
“Let him go,” Robert commanded.
His voice carried such authority the guards released the boy instantly.
“Bring him here.”
The boy approached slowly.