Emily Harper
Rye's face softened at the mention of his late father and he nodded. "Let him in," he said.
Cecille stepped aside and Mr. Clairmont walked in, looking around the room with a keen eye. He was a tall man, with graying hair and a sharp suit. He looked like he meant business. Mr. Clairmont was an older gentleman, probably in his early seventies. He was well-dressed and had a kind face, but there was something about his eyes that made me feel uneasy.
"Mr. Clairmont," Rye greeted. "Thank you for making time for me."
"Of course, of course," Mr. Clairmont said. He took a seat across from Rye and pulled out a file from his briefcase. "I just came back from an out-of-state job," he began. "So, I see that McMillan Global is in hot waters right now. There was a ton of media men stil
