The headquarters of the Meridian Merchant Guild was a grand structure of fading opulence, standing like a wounded monument in the heart of the southern commercial district. Its marble facade was streaked with the grime of neglected years, and the tall, arched windows seemed to stare out at the street like the hollow eyes of a ghost. Inside, the Great Boardroom smelled of stale tobacco, old paper, and the sharp, acidic scent of fear. A thick layer of dust sat upon the heavy mahogany table where the directors now gathered, their faces pale and drawn under the flickering light of a dying chandelier. The air was stagnant, heavy with the weight of impending ruin.
"The interest rates have spiked again," one director whispered, his voice trembling as he tapped a stack of ledger sheets. "The Vale
