The address Victor gave me was for the Blackwood Tower, a shard of obsidian glass that pierced the downtown skyline. It didn’t try to be friendly or innovative like the sprawling, open-plan campus Liam had built. It was a declaration of power, cold and absolute. I paid the cab driver, my hand steady as I took the receipt. The rain had softened to a fine mist, clinging to my coat as I stepped onto the granite plaza.
Inside, the lobby was a cathedral of marble and steel, hushed and cavernous. A single, severe-looking woman sat at a reception desk that looked like a modern art installation. She didn’t ask my name.
“Mr. Blackwood is expecting you, Ms. Rose,” she said, her voice as polished and impersonal as the floor. “Penthouse level. The elevator is keyed.”
The ride up was silent and swif
