There was a profound difference between genuine respect and desperate sycophancy. To the untrained eye, Director Graves was a man of immense power, the wealthiest man in Riverbend, whose word could sway the local markets. But in the presence of Derek Faulkner, Lionel Graves felt as significant as a grain of dust in the path of a storm.
The air in the Riverbend Grand Hotel’s executive kitchen was thick with the scent of seared Wagyu beef and aromatic, life-restoring herbs. Lionel stood by the stainless-steel prep table, his hands clasped tightly in front of him, his posture so stiff it was painful. He had tried to offer his services, his loyalty, and his hospitality, but he had been met with a wall of cold, military silence. Derek didn't want a "right-hand man" in the corporate world; he w
