In the hotel suite, William Franklin leaned back behind a sleek white desk, chuckling into his phone with effortless charm.
Carson stood nearby, waiting patiently for his boss to wrap up the call.
"Alright, Iverson, I'll leave the gala details in your hands—thanks a lot... Of course, no issues at all... See you then."
As the call ended, he eased into his chair, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Yasmine's skills are impressive. I underestimated her."
"Indeed, sir. She's got a real knack for getting things done." Carson handed over a folder as he spoke. "This is the file on Quentin Morrison that she sent over. Take a look when you can."
He raised an eyebrow. "She pulled this together that quickly?" He took the documents, flipping through them casually.
