Victor's little martyrdom stunt had been ripped apart right in his face.
The last flicker of hope in Victor's eyes guttered out in the rain.
I walked right past him without looking back.
I heard later that his bodyguards shipped him back to New York that same night. Word was he looked like a hollowed-out shell of a man, a body with nothing left behind the eyes.
Without the stabilizer serum keeping him in check, combined with the cocktail of extreme neurological drugs he'd been pumping into his system, Victor's brain had suffered permanent, irreversible damage.
The man who once moved markets with a snap of his fingers now couldn't control his own bladder.
The board voted unanimously to strip him of every share and every ounce of authority on the spot. They strapped him into a straitja
