The heavy mahogany doors of the main parlor creaked open, admitting a suffocating silence that seemed to press against the very walls of the Montgomery Estate. Following the sound, four technicians wearing the ID badges of Zenith Media shuffled into the room. They walked with their heads bowed, their posture radiating the distinct, trembling fear of men who realized they were mere pawns caught between colliding giants.
Upon seeing these four individuals, Preston Montgomery’s face drained of color. The arrogance that usually sat upon his features like a second skin evaporated instantly, replaced by a pallor that matched the marble floors. His eyes darted frantically, searching for an exit that didn’t exist, though he clenched his jaw, forcing himself to maintain a veneer of calm that foole
