The road was quiet that afternoon, the kind of place where heat rose from the dusty ground in slow waves. Hardly any cars passed through, and even the breeze seemed tired. So when McDon's driver sped down the narrow path, kicking up dust like a storm, it felt wrong, reckless.
"Hey!!! Watch out! Don't you know how to cross a road?" the driver barked, leaning halfway out the window. A man had stepped directly into the path, startled and confused.
The moment McDon muttered, "Stop the car," the driver hit the brakes.
McDon stepped out slowly, like a man who believed the ground deserved his presence. His polished black shoes sank into dust, his perfectly ironed trousers falling straight, and his crisp grey shirt hugging his torso neatly. His presence alone carried arrogance.
He walked toward the man with irritation sharp in his eyes.
"So you want to die?" McDon grumbled, approaching him with the confidence of someone who always got his way.
The man, dusty, worn, tired, backed up a little. "I'm sorry, sir… I—It wasn't my intention to cause any trouble. This is a less busy road…" His voice shook, and he barely met McDon's gaze.
Then his eyes widened. He blinked rapidly, rubbing his hands against his clothes as if clearing his vision.
"Wait… I think I know you."
McDon paused, his face unreadable.
"Yes… I do," the man said, jaw tightening. "What are you doing here, Don? Do you want to ruin this place the way you ruined me?"
His fists clenched so tightly they trembled.
McDon raised a brow, confused and offended. "Do I know you? I don't remember being friends with a low-life like you, talk less of ruining you. What do you even have to offer?" His words were calm but carried the quiet threat of someone used to crushing lives.
"You don't remember me, do you?" the man , Maleek snorted bitterly. "I see you made perfect use of my money. Look at you now."
He circled McDon slowly, observing him like a ghost studying its murderer.
"This is Maleek," he announced, his voice cracking. "The man who saw you as a brother… a best friend… a business partner."
McDon still looked blank.
"You remember now?!" Maleek shouted, shaking with anger he had held in for years.
He grabbed at his torn shirt, showing the holes, the faded trousers, the slippers that barely held together. "Look at me! Look at how low you dragged me! If not for my daughter… what would have become of me?"
McDon hissed, unimpressed. "Oh… Maleek. I didn't know you were out of prison."
Maleek laughed — a painful, broken sound. "Of course you didn't."
"Look at me. Look!!!" he demanded, stepping back and giving McDon a full view of the damage.
But McDon stepped closer, gripping Maleek's chin aggressively. "Do you think I'd be where I am today if not for my hard work? How much did you even invest? Mention it, I can pay you back in full right now."
He lifted his hands proudly, worshipping himself.
Maleek shoved his hand away. "All the years I spent in prison for a crime I didn't commit can never be repaid with money."
He shook his head, pain clouding his eyes. "I'm happy for you, though. At least you learned one or two things from me, because we both know you knew nothing about business."
Then he turned and walked away.
McDon's jaw tensed, rage burning in the silence.
People had gathered, whispering.
"What are you staring at?" his driver snapped at the onlookers.
"I'm not in the mood anymore. Take me home," McDon muttered, retreating into the car.
"Yes, boss."
The car sped away, leaving dust hanging in the air, and a man broken all over again.