Spoiled By The Ruthless Esports Captain

Jorden eased the Audi forward, the tires crunching softly against the pavement. He stopped the car right next to the electronic keypad on the visitor's lane. He pressed the button to roll down his window. He reached his arm out to press the call button, but his finger stopped in mid-air. The digital screen on the call box read: Enter 4-Digit Resident Code. Jorden frowned, his eyebrows pulling together. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and opened his text thread with Eleanor. She had sent the street address, but no gate code. No phone number for Martha. He tapped the call button on his mother's contact. Nothing happened. He looked at the top right corner of his screen. No Service. Jorden let out a sharp hiss of breath through his teeth. He shoved the phone back into his pocket and pushed his car door open. He stepped out into the cold wind. He walked up to the tinted glass of the security booth and knocked his knuckles against it. He peered inside. The chair was empty. A half-drank cup of coffee was steaming on the desk. The guard had gone to the bathroom. Jorden shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his slacks. The wind bit at his neck. He started pacing back and forth in front of the iron gate, his jaw clenched tight in annoyance. From the other side of the gate, a silver Volvo sedan slowly approached the exit lane. Arthur Corbett sat behind the wheel, a fresh newspaper resting on his passenger seat. Arthur tapped his brakes as he neared the gate. Through his windshield, he saw a tall man wearing a dark cap, pacing aggressively in front of the keypad. Arthur's grip on the steering wheel tightened. The man looked completely unfamiliar. He was wearing a hat pulled low, pacing aggressively by the gate, clearly trying to figure out a way to get inside. Arthur's neighborhood watch instincts flared to life, his suspicion immediately peaking. Arthur threw the Volvo into park. He shoved his door open and marched toward the iron fence. "Hey!" Arthur barked, his voice echoing in the quiet street. "What do you think you're doing?" Jorden stopped pacing. He turned his head and looked through the black iron bars. He saw an older man with graying hair glaring at him. Jorden pulled his hands out of his pockets. He took off his baseball cap, trying to look as non-threatening as possible. "I'm trying to visit a friend," Jorden said, his voice calm. "I don't have the gate code." Arthur's eyes narrowed, scanning Jorden's expensive cashmere sweater. The clothes were nice, but the kid's eyes were cold and sharp. "What's the name of the resident?" Arthur demanded, crossing his arms. "Give me the house number, or I'm calling the police." Jorden felt a spike of anger hit his chest. He forced his face to remain blank, swallowing the sharp retort on his tongue. "The Corbetts," Jorden said flatly. "Number 42." Arthur flinched. His arms dropped to his sides. "Who are you?" Arthur asked, his voice losing its aggressive edge. Jorden took a slow, deep breath. "My name is Jorden Berger. Eleanor's son." The name hit Arthur like a physical blow. Arthur's eyes went wide, his mouth dropping open slightly. He stared at the towering, intimidating man in front of him, trying to connect him to the little kid who used to eat dirt in his backyard. A heavy, suffocating silence hung in the air for five seconds. Arthur cleared his throat loudly, his face flushing dark red. "Jorden! My god, look at you," Arthur stammered, forcing a loud, awkward laugh. "You're so tall, I didn't even recognize you!" Jorden's jaw ticked. He forced the corners of his mouth up into a stiff, polite smile. "It's been a long time, sir." Arthur practically ran to his car. He grabbed his key fob and swiped it against the exit scanner. The heavy iron gates groaned and slowly swung open. "Follow me in!" Arthur yelled, waving his arm frantically. Jorden nodded. He walked back to his Audi, his muscles tight with lingering irritation. He dropped into the driver's seat and let out a long, heavy exhale. He put the car in drive and followed the silver Volvo into the neighborhood, praying the rest of the visit wouldn't be this painful.