As Max headed home, he remained torn with conflicting thoughts. Despite lacking the information Shake had acquired, he could sense the underlying turmoil just by observing the police cars zooming around like NASCAR racers.

His phone rang, and without bothering to glance at the caller ID, he answered. The voice on the other end delivered a terse message: "Emergency Council meeting will convene today at 10:00."

The call ended abruptly, leaving Max to finally notice the caller's identity displayed as "Unknown."

Max let out a sigh. "So, they're already taking action. Let's head home first."

About half an hour later, he arrived at a motel adorned with a red neon sign bearing the name "Patel Motel". It stood three stories tall, an imposing figure against the night sky.

Surveying the parking lot, he noted only five cars present. "Business is geting lower and lower," he sighed.

He proceeded towards a separate small two-story building adjacent to the motel, marked by a sign indicating the reception area.

"You brat finally remembered the old man, huh? Been too busy partying, I see. I can smell the alcohol from here," remarked the old man with a bushy white beard, protruding stomach, and glasses, dressed in a traditional Indian suit, as soon as Max stepped into the building.

"I remember an old man once telling me when he was 17, he was partying like crazy. I'm just following in his footsteps. He even had his first baby at age 17. I'm trying to be like him," Max retorted defensively.

"You brat dared to use me as an excuse?" Without hesitation, the old man swiftly grabbed a slipper from his foot and launched an attack.

Max effortlessly dodged the incoming slipper attack with a smirk.

"Ha ha! You're getting slow, old man. Your aim is slipping. Here, try again," Max teased as he calmly handed the slipper back to him.

"You cheeky brat is getting bolder, I see," the old man chuckled, though he refrained from another strike and instead put the slipper back on.

"Did you have dinner?" the old man inquired.

"Yeah, old man, I had pizza," Max replied.

The old man let out a sigh. "Well, then I guess I have to throw away this butter chicken I made."

"You know what, I'm feeling a bit hungry after all that walking, and throwing away food is a shame. Besides, I'm still a growing boy. Why don't you let me take care of this waste?" Max suggested with a mischievous grin.

"Brat is getting cheeky. Girls should be careful," the old man replied with a hint of amusement.

Ignoring the old man's warning, Max made his way to the next room, which served as both the part reception area and dining room in the separate building also known as Mr. Patel's house. He grabbed a plate and eagerly lifted the lid of the pot, releasing the irresistible aroma of butter chicken that assaulted his senses. His mouth watered uncontrollably as he piled his plate high with butter chicken and rice.

Returning to the reception area where the old man was, Max wasted no time devouring his meal as if the food might vanish in mere seconds.

Uncle Patel watched the kid devour his meal as if he hadn't eaten for days, a fond yet somewhat frustrated expression crossing his face.

"I really wish I could adopt this kid," he thought, letting out a sigh.

"So, old man, what's the specialty today? Maybe Uncle finally let go of Auntie Patel and had a hot lunch with a hot granny," Max joked, his mouth still half full.

"Ram and Krishni came today," the old man Patel said with a tinge of sorrow in his voice.

Max halted his devouring of the food abruptly and turned to face Old Man Patel.

"Did they also tell you today to sell the motel?" Max inquired directly.

"No, they didn't. They just wanted to eat my food and meet me and talk to me," the old man replied, attempting to deflect.

"Old man, tell the truth. I can tell you're lying," Max pressed.

Reluctantly, the old man admitted, "Yes, they did."

"These guys..." Max seethed with anger, his frustration evident.

They are Patel's grandkids. Their parents send them as envoys to pressure old man Patel to sell the motel. Every time they say they are coming, old man makes something special, no matter how busy he is. And they never care about him; they just come here, eat, and sneakily suggest selling it before leaving.

How can old man sell this like they say? This is the last property he has. He's 75, and this place was built with his and Auntie Patel's hard work. She passed away 15 years ago at a young age. How can old man let go of the place that holds memories of his wife and watch some rich guy bulldozing it to the ground?

These idiots don’t know how to cherish relationships. Yes, this half-acre land is worth tens of millions of dollars, but they never consider their mother or grandmother's memory.

"Fuck, I wish I was his son. I would have beaten some sense into them." Max thought silently.

"Well, after you're done eating, you have two rooms to clean," Patel changed the topic, sensing Max's growing anger towards his family. He hoped to make peace with both Max and his relatives.

"Huh, I knew you had something for me," Max replied, not dwelling on the sensitive topic further, understanding Patel's intentions.

"There are no free meals in the world, kiddo," Patel chuckled.

After finishing his meal, Max headed to the motel rooms that needed cleaning. This was where he gained experience in tidying up.

After disposing of the garbage, he returned to the side of the motel reception, his mind preoccupied.

"I have to think of some method to help the old man," Max resolved quietly to himself.

To Max, Old Man Patel was a deity in flesh. When Max had no roof over his head and nothing to eat, Old Man Patel had come to his aid like a saviour. Max couldn't fathom what he would have done without Old Man Patel in his life. Patel not only provided him with a place to sleep without asking for rent but also allowed him to work in the motel. Max was grateful for Auntie Patel too, though he regretted being too late to meet her.He credited her for shaping Old Man Patel into the remarkable man he was, and Old Man Patel himself had acknowledged it too.

Max paused before the door of a small, solitary unit. It used to be Uncle Patel's storage space, but he generously gave it to Max, opting to move his own belongings into the garage instead.

Opening the door, Max revealed a single room. It contained just one table and chair , a mattress leaning against the wall, a clothes rack, and a small kitchen area.

The clock on the wall read 9: 50 PM.

Max swiftly rearranged the setup in the room, positioning the table where the mattress was leaning and placing a chair in between. He attached a green sheet to serve as a makeshift green screen. Afterward, he changed into a full black suit, complete with a ski mask to conceal his identity.

Opening his laptop, Max connected to the meeting and adjusted his background to something different. Utilizing software, he altered his voice to further obscure his identity.

A few seconds after clicking the link in his email, someone appeared on the screen and demanded the password.

"Give me the password," they instructed.

"One zero eight six four nine, hash two," Max responded, swiftly providing the necessary information.

"Confirmed, Welcome Duke 9" the individual on the screen confirmed, proceeding with the process.

Then Max found himself connected to a waiting room, alongside others, and he waited patiently.

At sharp 10, all screens flickered to life, revealing Eight other individuals dressed exactly like him.

"The Emergency Council of Anarchy will now commence," the announcement echoed through the virtual meeting room.