The protesters had taken over the courtyard, their presence an overwhelming force that made Taylor's corner office feel like a cage.
A sea of fury stretched as far as he could see, their chants battering the walls of Taylons Enterprises like a relentless storm.
"Pay us now! Pay us now!" they screamed, their voices a cacophony of betrayal and desperation.
Signs bobbed up and down in the crowd, each one a personal indictment of his leadership.
There was thick tension in the air; the more one could choke from it, the more it grew deep in Taylor's chest, as if an anchor had been cast on his lungs, making breathing impossible.
His assistant burst through the door. Her usually impeccable appearance told a different story now: her jacket awry, a few strands of hair hanging loose from the
