The boardroom carried a quiet kind of authority.
Not the kind that demanded attention.
But the kind that held it.
The long polished table stretched across the room, reflecting the overhead lights in a way that felt almost deliberate, as if even the space itself understood the weight of what happened here.
Every chair was occupied.
Every presence intentional.
Every person seated carried influence, power, or the illusion of both.
At the head of the table.
Alexander Kingsley sat still.
Composed.
Collected.
Untouchable.
At least, that was what it looked like from the outside.
His fingers rested lightly against the surface of the table, one hand near an open file filled with projections and reports. His eyes moved across the pages with practiced ease, but his mind wasn’t fully ther
