- DECLAN
The city was buried under a layer of grey, slushy snow, but inside my office, the air felt even colder.
I leaned back in my chair, my eyes skimming the same column of the year-end financial report for Varellian Corp for the third time.
Most people in my position would be celebrating—the numbers were a masterpiece of corporate success.
On the surface, it was flawless—the kind of report board members framed and investors bragged about. Profits climbed, expansion stayed on schedule, and the markets ate up every calculated risk. But I wasn't looking at the glossy charts. I was digging into the hidden movement of capital, the jagged lines where money was being funneled to hide the costs of my own private wars.
Running an empire required a certain level of cold-bloodedness, a trai
