The corporate offices of the Richason Banking Group occupied a massive, obsidian-glass tower in Victoria Island. Inside the private penthouse office of the Group's patriarch, Chief Arthur Richason, the air was cold and formal. Arthur was a man of eighty, his hair snow-white, his presence carrying the heavy, conservative weight of a family that had managed the country’s primary wealth streams for nearly half a century.
Nate sat across from him in a low leather armchair, his expression a mask of professional confidence that masked the desperate financial void he was currently facing. On the desk between them lay a single, secure flash drive containing the copied compliance transaction logs Nielle had secured before her departure from Christian’s firm.
"These are the secondary transaction r
