“Get Adrian to call maintenance,” he says. His own tone is almost eerily flat. “We’ll need that window replaced before nightfall.”
A beat.
“Yes, sir,” Nolan says slowly.
Damian finally lifts his eyes—not toward Nolan, but toward the wall screen opposite his desk.
Numbers. Flow charts. Names of shells no one outside this floor has ever heard.
Work.
Work has always been the answer.
“Pull up every Riverside file,” he says. “Internal, external, financial, legal. I want full chains from the first bid to final demolition.”
Nolan hesitates just long enough to be noticeable.
“Now,” Damian adds, sharper.
Nolan taps his tablet; the big screen flicks to a project tree, expanding branches.
Damian sinks into his chair.
“Also,” he says, “freeze anything moving through shells 8A to 8F. New ap
