The forty-second floor of Laurent Holdings looked less like a corporate headquarters and more like a fortress constructed of dark granite, smoked glass, and absolute authority. At eight-fifty five on Friday morning, the sun was cutting through the lingering rain clouds over Buckhead, casting sharp, dramatic bars of light across the polished marble floor of the executive boardroom.
Maya stood at the end of the long mahogany conference table, setting up her digital presentation. She was dressed in an understated, immaculate charcoal silk jumpsuit that emphasized her caramel-gold skin and sculpted silhouette, her dark hair smoothed back into a sleek, low ponytail. Her warm brown eyes were clear, focused, and steady, showing no trace of the four hours of sleep she had managed after leaving t
