"That will not cut it." Mike's voice didn't rise, but it landed. Heavy. Final.
His laptop screen cast a harsh red glow across his face, rows of numbers bleeding downward like something already lost.
"It's not just the customers," he continued, his fingers tightening slightly on the edge of his keyboard. "The suppliers are at the front door." A ripple moved through the room.
Not panic this time. Something worse. Reality.
"They're demanding payment for the silk and wool orders. Since the rumors started that we're a 'scam,' they don't trust our credit anymore." He exhaled sharply, shaking his head once. "They want their money today."
Silence followed. Not the stunned kind. The suffocating kind. Because now it was clear. This wasn't just a reputational hit.
It was a collapse. A warehouse full of inventory no one trusted. And debts are stacking faster than they can breathe. The room seemed to tilt under the weight of it. At the head of the table, Amara didn't speak.
