Hudson Nolan had reached the absolute limit of his patience. His pride, built over thirty years of navigating the sterile, high-pressure corridors of the banking industry, had been pushed to the breaking point by what he perceived as a blatant invitation to commit financial suicide. He had already gripped his leather briefcase, ready to march out and preserve the shards of his dignity. But then, the single most powerful syllable in his professional vocabulary—"VP"—echoed through the room, delivered with a weight that made the very air seem to settle.
He stopped, his hand hovering over the cold brass of the door handle. The silence in the office was thick, broken only by the distant hum of the city. He turned back, his eyes searching Ace Kane's face. The predatory, mocking smirk was gone,
