The office of the Junior-1 Class fell into a tomb-like silence. The only audible sound was the collective, sharp intake of breath from the teachers and staff standing by the periphery. Their eyes were wide, dilated with a mixture of disbelief and primal terror as they stared at Conrad Stone.
Conrad stood in the center of the wreckage, his expression as cold and unyielding as a slab of arctic ice. He didn’t look like a man who had just engaged in a violent physical altercation; he looked like a god who had just swatted a fly.
Mr. Richard Vance was not a small man. Standing at six-foot-one with a broad, athletic build and the expensive tailoring of the Vance Family’s wealth, he usually commanded the room through sheer physical presence alone. He was a man accustomed to intimidation, a man
