The sunlight pouring through the tall glass windows of the Kingsley Corporation's executive boardroom gleamed coldly against the polished mahogany table. The air was taut with tension, the kind that hummed just before the snap of a breaking line.
Adrian Cross sat at the head of the table, posture impeccable, a quiet authority radiating from the easy way his fingers rested against the folder before him. His dark suit was crisp, the deep navy offset by a subtle tie of muted silver—professional, deliberate, composed. Behind him stood Emily, poised and alert, tablet in hand, her presence a quiet wall of efficiency.
