SHINKI
The constant, low-grade meow is a percussive soundtrack to my life now. I ignore it, standing shirtless before the floor-to-ceiling window of my penthouse bedroom. The New York skyline is a grid of light and ambition, a chessboard I usually command. Right now, it feels… noisy.
My abs are tight, a reflex to the annoyance of the small, fluffy black cat winding itself between my ankles. Tokito named it "Spreadsheet." I find the irony as tedious as the animal itself.
My phone is on speaker, resting on the cool glass of my desk.
"...so you launched a hostile takeover because she hurt your feelings?" Kenji's voice is a dry, unamused crackle through the line. It’s the same tone he uses when someone presents him with a fundamentally flawed business plan.
"I launched a hostile takeover
