Guilty Party [REWRITING]

I | SEPTEMBER 8 2019

CHAPTER I:
SEPTEMBER 8 2019

        MATEO ALWAYS HATED THAT UGLY grandfather clock out in the hallway that sits between the guest room and his father's study, which was where he was in currently. It always sounded louder than it actually is and the echo of each tick seemed daunting, like a ghost haunting him. One of these days, or when he inherits the entire Sanchez fortune, that goddamn grandfather clock will be the first one to go. 

       He'll do his future kids a favour by destroying that damn thing. 

       Mateo reaches forward, lifting the crystal glass of cognac off the coffee table and into his hand as the leather couch creaked under his movement. He takes a sip to calm his nerves and focuses on the fireplace, watching the orange flames feed onto the wood that starts to darken under its touch. His father's study smells like oak and bourbon; a distinct scent that made him remember his childhood, when things were a lot easier. 

        "It's 1AM. This really couldn't wait?" Evan is the first to arrive to the Sanchez manor and waltz into the study, the now opened door letting in a draft. 

        Mateo's eyes flickers from the fire and to Evan's back as he helps himself to a glass of one of the finest bourbon that was gifted to Mr Sanchez during one of his many company launches. 

        "It's urgent," Mateo mutters lowly, putting the glass down. 

        Evan turns, leaning the back of his hip against the table that held an assortment of liquor. The space between his brows creases deeply in thought, glaring back at Mateo as if he could decipher what has to be said that night. As if there are any other thing to mention at this ungodly hour, Mateo thinks, and if Evan Morrison couldn't figure it out then that boy would be forever helpless. 

       "It's not like you're one to call an early night, anyway," Mateo adds as Evan grins wildly, finishing the entire drink in his hand before walking over to sit on the matching leather sofa across him, splaying his arm over the back. 

      "I am also not one to be early to things," Evan says, glancing at the Rolex that sits comfortably on his wrist before scanning the room, seeing it's just the both of them lingering around. 

       Mateo forces a laugh, maintaining his sight on his drink. If he could just focus on something, maybe he wouldn't have to think about the restless nights that are about to come after him. Yet again. 

       "I'm just as surprised as you are, Morrison." 

       After what happened, it took a while for him and his friends to get back into the swing of things. They were barely 16 when it happened, they were just kids and they are still kids now with their entire life ahead of them. And now that things are threatened to unravel, the ticking clock is getting louder and louder each minute, counting down to the moment this could all just blow up in their pretty, privileged faces.