The clock on the wall read 11:59 PM.
In the JD Records conference room, the air had gone still — the kind of stillness that only existed in the seconds before something monumental happened. Every pair of eyes was locked on the massive digital display mounted on the far wall, where a single number glowed in cold white light.
10.
Dayo stood at the head of the long mahogany table, his fingers resting lightly against its polished surface. He wasn't sitting. He hadn't sat in over an hour. Across from him, the core team of JD Records had gathered — some in chairs, some leaning against walls, some perched on the edge of the table itself. No one had gone home. No one had even *thought* about going home.
9.
