Arthur lay on the marble floor, his right hand pressed against his aching temple. His silver hair was disheveled, his reading glasses crooked across his cheekbone.
"Daniel... don't..." Eleanor wept, reaching out her hands as she neared her husband. "Daniel, please!"
Daniel stood over his father, his knuckles raw and red, his chest heaving under his navy suit. He turned back toward Lin, who was clutching his sleeve, sobbing hysterically into his shoulder.
"He... he tried to grab the documents from my bag, Daniel," Lin whimpered, her voice muffled against his jacket. "When I refused, he grabbed my shirt! He tried to force me onto the floor!"
Arthur slowly raised his left hand while lying on the tile. His finger was shaking, but he didn't point at Lin, nor did he point at his son.
He pointed straight up toward the apex of the vaulted ceiling archway directly above Daniel's head.
"Check... the camera," Arthur gasped, his voice cracked with pain and emotional agony.
Lin went rigid.
The violent trembling in her body stopped instantly. Her hands, which had been clutching Danielโs sleeve with desperate strength, slowly loosened.