Though I had never seen it feel quite like an actual battlefield, the Prescott Group boardroom had hosted three generations of corporate warfare. Once used as neutral ground for what might be the most significant negotiation in the company's history, the mahogany table that had seen hostile takeovers, merger negotiations, and strategic demolitions now acted as such.
Damian sat at the far end of the table, elegantly dressed in a charcoal Tom Ford suit, probably costing more than most people's cars. He had brought his legal team—three sharks in Armani who seemed to have come out of a corporate warfare manual. Their briefcases were set with military accuracy, pills and paperwork laid out like weapons just waiting for use.
From our end of the table, it seemed like a family dinner gone wrong.
