Double doors of the boardroom remained closed, a silent barrier behind which the fate of the Caldwell empire was being weighed. I stood by the floor to ceiling window in the reception lounge, looking out at the sprawling concrete veins of Los Angeles. The diamonds around my neck felt like a physical burden now, cold and heavy against my collarbone. I could see my reflection in the glass, a sharp and polished silhouette that masked the tremor in my hands.
Julian stood a few feet away, his back to me. He was staring at a portrait of his grandfather that hung on the far wall. He had been silent since we walked out, his energy focused and intense. He looked like a man prepared for the end of the world, or perhaps the beginning of a new one.
"You were perfect," he said, his voice breaking the silence without him turning around. "I have spent years trying to convince Silas Vance that I am the right successor. You did more in five minutes than I managed in a decade."
