The opening bell of the New York Stock Exchange at 8:30 AM Central Time usually sounded like opportunity. Today, within the executive suite of Vargas Enterprises, it sounded like the first shot of an execution.
Alejandro stood in his private bathroom, staring at his reflection in the polished granite mirror. He wore a crisp, white tailored shirt and a deep charcoal silk tie—the traditional armor of the Director. He picked up his silver-headed cane, weighing it in his hand. For weeks, he had tried to discard it, viewing it as a symbol of the weakness Emily had exposed. Today, he carried it out of choice. It was no longer a crutch; it was a weapon of absolute authority.
Emily was already waiting in his office, standing by the vast glass wall that looked down on the awakening city. She wore
