Issac Monroe didn’t bother to look back as he led Natalie Pierce toward the elevator, but the echoes of the conversation in the ruined suite lingered in the air like the ozone after a lightning strike.
"What kind of person?" Armand Plemons had wheezed, his voice trembling with a mixture of agony and fading bravado.
Wallis Joyce had merely laughed, a cold, crystalline sound that cut through the idol’s delusions. "Someone whose shoes your boss isn't even qualified to polish. My family—the Joyce family—spends every waking moment trying to stay in his good graces. And you? You’re just a joke."
The revelation had hit Armand and his assistant like a physical blow. They stood frozen, staring at the retreating back of a man they had dismissed as a pleb, a man who carried the weight of the Unite
