Lucian
The soft buzz of my phone broke the rhythmic scratching of my Montblanc pen against legal documents. I glanced at the notification: an encrypted message from Eliza, my PR relations manager.
All ready. Photographer briefed. Pickup scheduled for 1pm.
I smiled faintly, my thumb tapping the phone case as I leaned back in my office chair. Sunlight filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting clean golden beams across my polished mahogany desk. The city lay beneath me like a chessboard, each block and skyscraper a piece under my control.
“Micah,” I called, my voice echoing through the partially open office door.
Micah appeared almost instantly, his suit immaculate, posture rigid. “Yes, sir.”
“Move my 1pm investor check-in to tomorrow. Have the car ready in thirty minutes.”
