Chapter eleven
“They say the best revenge is living well. I say it’s acid in the face.”—Mindy Kalling.
If bothered by the presence of the man standing legs astride before him, the timeworn-faced man seated in an ergonomic chair in the big office room gave little sign of it, turning away from the man in his seat as he put a call through to a number that failed to answer at the first ring.
For the old, short man, whose figure was mostly hidden behind the large, polished desk in front of him, more important than the man standing before him, and the message he had come bearing was this call.
Though calm and composed on the surface, the man was anything but what he looked on the inside. The call he had received earlier had made sure of that. And he had since then been put into a frenzy
