THIRD PERSON POV
Morning sun cut through the blinds of Grant’s office, but the atmosphere was anything but warm. The air smelled of polished wood, bitter coffee, and fear.
Mr. Grant stood stiff near his desk, sweat glistening at his temples despite the chill of the air conditioning. He smoothed his tie once, twice, a nervous tic he couldn’t shake.
The elevator doors opened.
In strode Señor Alejandro Cortez, flanked by two men in sharp suits, their silence louder than any gun. His presence filled the room before his voice did—broad-shouldered, deliberate in every step, his black suit tailored like armor.
“Grant.” His accent wrapped around the single word like velvet over steel.
Grant bowed his head quickly. “Señor Cortez… I—I assure you, we will resolve this misunderstanding immediate
