"You think you know everything, don’t you, Desmond?"
Lola’s voice was steady, but her grip on the folder in her hands was anything but. Her nails dug into the thick cardstock, her knuckles white as she stood in Desmond’s dimly lit office, facing the man who had spent far too long lurking in the shadows.
Desmond leaned back in his chair, his smirk sharp enough to cut through steel. He looked comfortable, almost amused, as if he had been expecting her all along. "Lola, you’re getting predictable. You storm in here, full of fire, thinking you’ve won some kind of battle. But you always leave disappointed."
Lola tossed the folder onto his desk, the papers spilling out—documents, emails, wire transfers, all traced back to him. Every underhanded deal, every manipulation, every piece of his wel
