The heavy mahogany front doors of the penthouse suite slammed shut and rang out loud and with a resounding crash in the empty marble corridors. Broad, hunched shoulders, pitch-black eyes black-blooded, chaotic unchecked rage burning in them, Zeth Richason walked into the living pavilion, with absolute exhaustion. The federal regulatory briefings had been a public execution, the domestic voting blocks were breaking up by the hour and his private intelligence squads had just been completely lost on Casel's trail, just in the Austrian sector. He was a king on the eve of a protracted battle on several fronts and he was losing his grip on all of them.
He tore his silk tie from his throat and threw it on the shiny car floor boards as he walked to the middle column. He did not acknowledge Nielle
