I picked up the stack of heavy, textured folders from the side table. My hands were steady—forced into compliance by sheer survival instinct. I stepped up to the table, moving silently from the back of the room toward the front, placing a folder gently to the right of each executive.
One for Sarah. One for the CFO. One for Clara.
Finally, I reached the head of the table.
Adrian was typing something into his laptop, his profile sharp and imposing up close. I could smell the faint scent of his cedarwood cologne, the same scent from that dark hallway at the Vance Estate.
I leaned forward slightly, placing the final folder on the polished wood next to his hand. "The third-quarter breakdown, Mr. Holt," I murmured, keeping my voice low, monotone, and entirely devoid of the warmth I had used
