"This isn't business… this is punishment," another muttered.
Archibald Everhart, still seated at the head of the table, suddenly shifted in his chair, his cold, calculating eyes slowly locking onto James. James, who was quiet now, still trying to make sense of what just happened, suddenly felt the weight of that stare.
The tension thickened as Bartholomew Ainsley narrowed his eyes. The energy in the room shifted. Even the others sensed something was about to break.
James looked up—and froze.
Archibald Everhart face was stern. But behind that sternness was something more dangerous.
Suspicion.
A sharp silence spread across the room again, as if the walls themselves were holding their breath.
At that moment James sat up straighter, sensing the change.
Then, Archibald Everhart spoke, slowly and with a voice that cut deep.
"James."
James didn't respond immediately.
"James…" Archibald Everhart repeated, firmer this time.
James met his eyes. "Yes?"
