The morning light was thin and grey, filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Julian's penthouse in a way that made the expensive marble floors look cold. He sat on the edge of his bed, his head resting in his hands. He hadn't moved for twenty minutes, his gaze fixed on a glass of water on the nightstand.
The silence in the room was heavy, pressing against his ears until the thrumming of the blood in his own temples became the only sound he could hear.
The vibration of his phone on the marble sounded like a jackhammer. Julian didn't flinch. He watched it dance across the stone for three rings before reaching out.
"William," he said, his voice sounding like it had been dragged through gravel.
"Did James call you yet?" William Brice asked. The financial advisor's voice was taut, stripped of its usual professional cadence.
"No. Not yet," Julian replied.
"He's probably fielding the same calls I am. Julian, are you watching the pre-market?"
