Sinclair Tower’s executive floor was unnervingly quiet the next morning, the kind of silence that came before a storm.
Damien Sinclair stood in his office, the city skyline stretched out behind him, but his gaze was on the letter now locked inside his desk drawer. The ink felt heavier today, as if Vincent Mercer’s threat was already staining the walls of his empire.
Celeste entered without knocking, her presence no longer needing an invitation. She handed him a dossier, her eyes sharper than the diamond earrings glinting from her lobes.
“I had my team dig into Mercer-Calloway’s last quarter filings,” she announced, not waiting for Damien to ask. “They’re bleeding, Damien. The only reason they want Sinclair so badly is because they’re desperate. They need us to survive.”
Damien took the
