The room fell into a suffocating silence. A faint mechanical whir hummed from the speakers as the laptop screen flickered. A duck waddled across a shadowy backdrop, its movements oddly stiff, almost lifeless. Then came the voice—low, smooth, and chilling in its calmness.
"Wow, old man," it drawled, the words stretching as if tasting the tension in the air. "Quite something, huh?"
The old man stiffened, his knotted hands gripping the edge of the table. His breath hitched, though he tried to mask it. The voice continued, a mocking edge weaving through its measured tone.
"Haven't you been busy?" it mused. "What do they call you again? Oh, yes—the kind man. So generous, so charitable. Aren't you?"
The ladies in the room exchanged confused glances, their unease growing with every word. To them, this man was a beacon of virtue, a pillar of the community. But the color had drained from his face, and his eyes darted to the screen as though it were a serpent poised to strike.
