The boardroom on the thirty-ninth floor was a marvel of modern architecture, encased in frosted glass and bathed in the sterile, icy hum of industrial air conditioning. It smelled of ozone, fresh whiteboard markers, and expensive dark roast coffee.
Damon Blackwood stood at the head of the long obsidian table, a laser pointer in his hand. He was delivering the Q3 logistics summary to the regional directors. His voice was a steady, authoritative baritone. His posture was impeccable. To the twelve executives in the room, he was the untouchable titan of the supply chain.
But Damon felt like he was burning alive.
Beneath the tailored wool of his suit jacket, a sheen of sweat coated his spine. The hand holding the laser pointer was terrifyingly rigid, locking his joints to suppress a tremor.
