-ARIA-
By the end of the week, I had drafted the contract to buy the warehouses in New Jersey. With the stack of papers in hand, I headed to Logan’s office. He was standing before the floor‑to‑ceiling windows, surveying the LA skyline.
The sun sank behind the towers, streaks of blue and pink bleeding across the sky. Outside, the sky burned in Technicolor; inside, Logan’s world was stripped to black and white.
The place was cold, stripped of anything personal. No photos, no plants, no goofy mugs. Even the books on the shelves were strictly business, their spines stiff, untouched.
Elegant, sure. But soulless as the man himself.
Logan wore a three‑piece suit, his presence big enough to swallow the whole room. He heard me coming but didn’t bother to turn.
I stopped a few feet behind him,
