Voss Tower buzzed like a disturbed hive.
Inside the 17th-floor boardroom, Brenton Voss sat rigidly at the head of the table, flanked by a team of corporate lawyers and public relations advisors. The scandal had broken barely 48 hours ago, and already the vultures were circling.
“Half our major sponsors have paused deals,” the PR lead reported, voice tight. “Stock dropped eleven percent since yesterday.”
Brenton rubbed his temples, eyes bloodshot. “Fix it.”
“We can’t fix wire fraud, Brenton,” snapped another. “Someone’s been feeding financials to the press. Internal data only.”
Roland Voss hadn’t spoken yet. He sat at the far end, stony and quiet. Watching.
Judging.
Then he finally turned to Camille — or as they all knew her now, Claire Danvers.
“You’re quiet,” he said. “Speak.”
Ca
