The heavy mahogany doors of the 50th-floor boardroom clicked shut behind Jake's legal team, sealing off the muffled roar of the media horde five hundred feet below.
Inside, the silence was suffocating.
Jake sat at the head of the long oval table, his hands resting comfortably on the polished wood. To his right sat Silas Thorne, already unlatching his leather briefcase; to his left, the empty space felt like a void pressing down on the shattered Newman family.
Sylvia Sheele took a deliberate, measured sip of her espresso, setting the porcelain cup down onto its saucer with a faint, precise clink.
"An impressive entrance, Mr. Rivers," Sylvia said, her voice smooth, refined, and laced with the casual authority of someone who had never known a day without power. She leaned back in her high-backed leather chair, steepling her long fingers. "Though taking the Chairman's seat before a motion is officially put to the floor is a bit eager, don't you think?"
