DAMIEN'S POV
The conference room on the executive floor of Blackwood Enterprises was designed to intimidate. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Manhattan, a table made from a single piece of Brazilian walnut, leather chairs that cost more than most people's cars. Everything about the space screamed power, wealth, and absolute control.
Damien sat at the head of the table, his expression cold and unreadable as he waited for Robert and David to arrive. Marcus stood behind him, tablet in hand, ready to present the evidence they'd compiled overnight.
The door opened, and both men entered. Robert was in his late fifties, silver-haired and distinguished, the CFO who'd been with the company for fifteen years. David was younger, early forties, VP of Operations and ambitious enough to be dangerous.
Both looked uncomfortable. As they should be.
"Gentlemen," Damien said, his voice perfectly controlled. "Thank you for making time this morning. Please, sit."
