Voicemail: Isaac
Marshall: Too bad, I was hoping your phone would be turned on. I wanted to hear your voice while I talk to you. But I guess you're too busy spreading your legs for someone... Anyway. Recognize my voice, dear friend? It's Marshall. The man whose plans were foiled by the little cunt that you are, whose company was damaged and whose brother was almost killed and left heartbroken after you just vanished. But don't worry, little bitch Isaac, everything is forgiven. From this day, we're even. You should call your firm's legal team, cunt. They will tell you that the majority of the shareholders - meaning Mr. Warren McQueen and myself, as our firms combined currently hold 53% - have decided to merge your business with 69wins and to remove you from your position. Which means, your business is gone. The firm's funds? Mine. The casino? Mine. You have nothing, Isaac. You gave up Marcus to get this firm, and now it's mine. You are without a job, without a lover, and once again, without money. I have made sure to wait with this until you had a chance to get another job... and I see you're sucking the dicks of both the designer and, apparently, someone in the cityhall. That should be sufficient, you can get a new job on your own now. Or even better, simply accept the fact that you have nothing. Do us all a favor and vanish once again. Hopefully for good this time. Goodbye, Isaac... Have a nice life. And by 'nice', I mean a horrible and hopefully very short one.
