About forty minutes later, Veronica entered the office, tablet in hand, her heels clicking against the polished floor.
"Sir," she began, her voice calm but firm. "David Federer is on his way. He’ll be here shortly.”
Richard turned around, nodding. "Good. Let’s head down."
He adjusted the cuffs of his tailored suit, oozing an air of confidence, and walked past Veronica toward the elevator. Together, they descended to the ground floor.
As they exited the elevator, Richard’s eyes scanned the bustling lobby. The grandeur of the space—a gleaming marble floor, chandeliers that sparkled like diamonds, and sleek, modern furniture… he walked ahead, looking around, slightly disturbed.
He didn't know, but something seemed off.
"Mr. Avery," she said, catching up to him. "Is everything alright?
