The last of Liam’s investigators had cleared out, leaving the war room in a state of violated silence. The blinking green lights on the tagged servers were like a dozen malevolent eyes, watching me. The air was thick with the ghost of Liam’s cheap victory.
I finally turned from the window to face Victor. “They’ll want my resignation,” I said. It wasn’t a question. “The board. The VPs. Arthur.”
Victor didn’t answer immediately. He stood and walked to the polished granite bar in the corner of the room. He poured two glasses of what looked like single malt scotch, the amber liquid catching the low light. He walked back and handed one to me. My fingers were cold against the crystal.
“I was seventeen the first time I almost went bankrupt,” he said, his voice quiet, conversational. The abrupt
