THE SCAR OF WEALTH

You are under arrest for the attempted murder of Mr. Linton. You have the right to remain silent." The detective's voice cut through the air like a blade as he clamped the handcuffs around the criminal's wrists. This was a flashback, one that played vividly in Mr. Linton's mind as he stood on the balcony of his sprawling estate. The gulf estate, one of the largest and most opulent in all of England, stretched out before him like a kingdom. At 67, his silver hair glinted in the sunlight, but his thoughts were far from serene.

He was reliving the day his brother, Peeta Brian, had been arrested and sentenced to six years in prison. "Mr. Peeta Brian, you have been found guilty of the attempted murder of Mr. Linton and are hereby sentenced to six years imprisonment," the judge declared, her voice cold and final as she slammed the gavel down. The sound echoed like a death knell. The police escorted Brian toward the exit, his head bowed as cameras flashed and reporters shouted questions. "Mr. Linton! Mr. Linton!" one reporter called out, shoving a microphone in his face. "What do you think will be the fate of your brother after his prison sentence? Do you believe he'll be rehabilitated?" Mr. Linton's jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing as he faced the reporter. "Society sends people like Brian to jail because they don't deserve to live among civilized people. Prison is another world, another universe meant for those who refuse to play by the rules. And without a doubt, that's where Brian belongs. If he's ever discharged and deemed fit to rejoin society, we'll see if he's truly changed-if he doesn't rot in there first." His words were sharp, cutting through the air like a whip. The pressure of the moment became too much, and his assistant quickly stepped in, ushering him toward his waiting Mercedes.

Today was the day. Peeta Brian was being released after serving his sentence, and the news had already gone viral across England. As he stepped out of the prison gates, a figure approached him, hand extended. "Good day, Mr. Brian. How has life treated you so far?" the man asked, his tone casual but his eyes sharp. Brian shook the man's hand, a faint smile playing on his lips. "It's been a long time. I'll need to realign myself with the rhythms of society," he replied, his voice calm but laced with an edge of determination. The two walked toward a waiting car, its engine purring softly. "Mr. Henderson," Brian began as they settled into the backseat, "how is my brother doing?" Henderson hesitated, then sighed. "Never thought you'd ask. He's been under the weather for the past six months-breathing issues, mostly." Brian chuckled softly; a sound devoid of humor. "Never expected that," he murmured, his gaze fixed on the passing scenery. The car pulled up in front of a modest apartment. "This is where I leave you, Brian," Henderson said, handing him a set of keys. "Try to stay out of trouble. You've just gotten out of jail, after all." Brian stepped out of the car, his eyes scanning the building before him. "Home sweet home," he muttered under his breath. He entered the apartment, his footsteps echoing in the empty space. His eyes fell on a portrait hanging on the wall-a painting of his brother, Mr. Linton. "Soon, brother," Brian whispered, his voice low and menacing. "The darkest light is yet to shine."

The phone on the side table rang incessantly, its shrill tone cutting through the quiet of the room. Ellen, the maid, hurried to answer it. "Hello? Who's calling, please?" she asked, her voice tinged with curiosity. "Hello, Ellen. Put Mr. Linton on the line," the caller demanded, his voice familiar yet unsettling. Ellen's heart skipped a beat as she glanced at the unfamiliar number. She approached Mr. Linton, who was seated at the dining table, savoring his breakfast. "Sir, you have a call," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "Who is it?" he asked, his tone impatient. "I have a tight schedule today. Tell them I'm busy." "It's... it's your brother. It's Mr. Brian," Ellen stammered, her words barely audible. A heavy silence filled the room. Mr. Linton stood abruptly, snatching the phone from her hands. "What do you want from me?" he barked;, his voice laced with anger. "Are you here to finish what you started?"Mr. Linton stared at the phone, his knuckles white as he gripped it tightly. Without another word, he hung up. "Ellen, fetch my suitcase. I have a meeting to attend," he said curtly, his voice betraying none of the turmoil he felt.

The car pulled up in front of Picfacts, a prestigious gallery known for housing some of the world's most expensive paintings and artifacts. Mr. Linton stepped out, his presence commanding immediate attention. He strode toward the manager's office, his polished shoes clicking against the marble floor. "Good morning, Mr. Linton," the manager greeted, swiveling in his chair to face him. "Good morning. Where's the painting?" Mr. Linton asked, cutting straight to the point. "Right this way," the manager said, leading him to a heavily secured section of the gallery.

"What we have for you today is truly one of a kind-not just in England, but in the entire world." Mr. Linton raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Go on." "I present to you the portrait of Lady Martha of Athens," the manager announced, his voice brimming with excitement. "This masterpiece was discovered deep within the ruins of the castle, perfectly preserved. It was painted by the greatest artist of his time, "He uses mud and sticks to paint, and sometimes if he can't find sticks for painting, he uses sticks... haa! Just joking", Mr. Linton's eyes narrowed. "Hmm." "Only about the sticks," the manager quipped, earning a faint smirk from Mr. Linton. "So, what's the price?" Mr. Linton asked. "We've informed several clients, and we're waiting for the highest bidder. The current highest bid is one hundred and five million dollars." "One hundred and eighty million," Mr. Linton declared without hesitation. The manager's eyes widened. "Sold! One hundred and eighty million dollars!" he exclaimed, barely containing his excitement. "Have it delivered to my estate immediately," Mr. Linton instructed as he turned to leave. "I'm heading to Abu Dhabi in three hours.

The doorbell chimed twice, its sound echoing through the grand foyer. Ellen opened the door to find a tall figure silhouetted against the moonlight. "Who are you? We're not expecting guests," she said, her voice trembling. The figure removed his hat, revealing a face that made Ellen gasp. "Brian?!" she exclaimed, her voice a mixture of shock and fear. "Hush, Ellen. Aren't you going to let me in?" Brian said, brushing past her. "How did you get past the guards? What are you doing here?" "I came to visit my beloved brother. Is he home?" Brian asked, his tone dripping with sarcasm as he hung his coat on the rack. "He's not here. You need to leave, or I'll call the police," Ellen warned, though her voice lacked conviction. Brian ignored her; his eyes drawn to the portrait of Lady Martha. "Ah, my brother's latest acquisition. He's always been one to flaunt his wealth," he remarked, reaching out to touch the painting. "Don't!" Ellen snapped, stepping between him and the portrait. "That's worth millions." "Of course, it is," Brian replied, his smile chilling. "You see, Ellen, getting rich is easy. Staying rich-that's the hard part. Give my regards to my brother when he returns." With that, Brian turned and left, his coat slung casually over his shoulder

Brian sat at a library table, a cup of coffee in one hand and a pen in the other. He was finalizing the manuscript he'd been working on since his time in prison-a novel that would shake England to its core. The next morning, newspapers across the country carried the headline: **"Peeta Brian's 'Green Snake in Green Grass' Goes Viral in England." ** Ellen picked up the paper, her hands trembling as she read the bold letters. Meanwhile, on television, Brian sat across from a talk show host, his demeanor calm and collected. "What inspired you to write this novel?" the host asked. "The novel explores the three main classes of society-the upper class, the working class, and the lower class," Brian explained. "Each represents a different stratum of the world: the wealthy, the educated but unemployed, and the less privileged. It's a reflection of the world we live in." As the show ended, Brian leaned back, a satisfied smile on his face. His plan was unfolding perfectly. She flung the remote to the table beside her and continued with her daily routines.

The black jet landed swiftly on the runway, its tires screeching as it came to a halt. The name "Getty" was boldly inscribed on the side of the jet, a symbol of wealth and power. On the waiting car park, a sleek silver Rolls-Royce gleamed in the sunlight, its driver leaning against the side, waiting for his passenger. As Mr. Linton emerged from the jet, his assistant, Eric, greeted him with a smile. "Welcome, Mr. Linton. How was your trip?" he asked, opening the car door for his boss. Mr. Linton, a tall, imposing figure with a commanding presence, smiled as he settled into the car.

"It went well, very good," he replied, his voice deep and authoritative. "And as we have it, money won't be roaming in this country anymore as usual." He carelessly swayed his supportive stick around, a gesture that spoke of his confidence and power. Eric watched him, his expression a mixture of admiration and wariness. "Good to hear, sir," Eric replied, taking his place opposite the driver's seat. "So, your brother has been known and awarded a merit award for the piece he wrote." Mr. Linton smirked, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Eric, you know what the society values and respects, don't you?" he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Eric hesitated, unsure of where the conversation was headed. "I think so, sir," he replied cautiously. "It's identity," Mr. Linton declared, his voice rising. "And it's like a wildfire spread across the forest. The only reason that Brian is so recognized in this country is because of me." He paused, his eyes narrowing as he gazed out the window. "There are millions of writers out there who are more influential, and persuasive than him. But do they get the recognition they deserve? No." Mr. Linton's voice was laced with bitterness, his words dripping with venom. "It's my identity that's covering him, Eric. My name, my wealth, my influence. Without me, Brian would be just another struggling writer, trying to make a name for himself." Eric listened, his expression a mixture of fascination and horror. He had never seen Mr. Linton like this before, so consumed by anger and resentment. "But, sir," Eric ventured, trying to reason with his boss. "Brian's writing speaks for itself. He's a talented writer, and he deserves the recognition he's getting." Mr. Linton's laughter was cold, mirthless. "You are naive, Eric," he said, shaking his head. "This world isn't about talent or hard work. It's about identity, and who you know." He leaned back in his seat, his eyes glinting with amusement. "And I'm the one who knows everyone, Eric. I'm the one who pulls the strings." The car fell silent, the only sound was the soft hum of the engine. Eric glanced at Mr. Linton, his expression a mixture of fear and respect. He knew that he was in the presence of a powerful, ruthless man, who would stop at nothing to get what he wanted. As the car pulled up to the mansion, Mr. Linton's expression changed, his face smoothing out into a mask of calm. "Let's get one thing straight, Eric," he said, his voice low, menacing. "I'm the one who runs this family, and I'm the one who will always come out on top." Eric nodded, his heart racing with fear. He knew that he had just glimpsed the real Mr. Linton, the man behind the mask. And he knew that he would never forget this moment, this glimpse into the soul of a ruthless, powerful man.

After his return from his trip, Mr. Linton was invited to a high-profile investment meeting in New York. The company, GreenTech Inc., was launching a new sustainable energy product that promised to revolutionize the industry. As he arrived at the meeting, he was greeted by the CEO, Mr. Jenkins, a childhood friend he had grown up with. They exchanged warm smiles and firm handshakes, reminiscing about old times. "Linton, it's great to see you again," Mr. Jenkins said, his eyes shining with excitement. "I'm glad you could make it to our meeting today." "Jenkins, it's been too long," Mr. Linton replied, his voice filled with warmth. "I'm intrigued by your new product. Tell me more." As they sat down, Mr. Jenkins began his presentation, clicking a button to reveal a large screen behind him. The screen came to life, displaying a sleek and futuristic image. "Ladies and gentlemen," Mr. Jenkins started, "today we're going to revolutionize the way we think about energy. We're going to introduce a product that will change the game, a product that will make fossil fuels obsolete." He paused for dramatic effect, surveying the room. The investors and analysts seated around the table leaned forward, their eyes fixed on the screen. "Behold, our latest innovation: the EcoPulse!" Mr. Jenkins announced, his voice filled with pride. The screen behind him displayed a 3D animation of the EcoPulse, a sleek and compact device that looked like a cross between a solar panel and a battery. Mr. Linton's eyes widened as he took in the details of the device. "It's a game-changer, folks," Mr. Jenkins continued. "With the EcoPulse, we can generate clean, sustainable energy anywhere, anytime. No more fossil fuels, no more pollution, no more climate change." The room erupted into a flurry of questions and comments, with investors and analysts eager to learn more about the EcoPulse. Mr. Linton listened intently; his eyes narrowed in concentration. "How does it work?" he asked, his voice rising above the din. "Ah, great question, Linton," Mr. Jenkins replied. "The EcoPulse uses a proprietary membrane that mimics the process of photosynthesis. It absorbs sunlight and converts it into electrical energy, which can then be stored in a battery or fed directly into the grid." Mr. Linton nodded, his mind racing with calculations. He could see the potential for the EcoPulse to disrupt the entire energy industry, and he wanted in. As the presentation continued, Mr. Linton's excitement grew. He asked questions, made comments, and engaged in a lively discussion with the other investors and analysts. Seated beside him was a young woman named Sarah, a brilliant engineer who had worked on the EcoPulse project. She smiled at Mr. Linton, impressed by his keen insight and sharp questions. "I'm glad you're interested in the EcoPulse, Mr. Linton," she said, her voice filled with enthusiasm. "We've worked tirelessly to bring this product to market, and we're confident it will make a real difference in the world." Mr. Linton smiled back at her, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I'm impressed by your team's work, Sarah," he said. "I think the EcoPulse has tremendous potential. I'd like to learn more about it." As the meeting drew to a close, Mr. Jenkins stood up, a satisfied smile on his face. "Thank you all for coming today," he said. "We're excited about the EcoPulse, and we believe it will revolutionize the energy industry. We look forward to working with all of you to make this vision a reality." The room erupted into a flurry of activity, with investors and analysts mingling and discussing the EcoPulse. Mr. Linton stood up, shaking hands with Mr. Jenkins and Sarah. "I'm in," he said, his voice filled with conviction. "I'll take a 20% stake in the company." Mr. Jenkins grinned, shaking Mr. Linton's hand. "Welcome aboard, Linton. Together, we're going to change the world."