The manager of Goldspring Bank in Frankfurt City was a portly, middle-aged man with a belly that hung over his waistband. At this moment, he was sitting on the plush sofa of the VIP room, legs crossed, impatiently swirling a whiskey glass filled with ice.
Damn it, why hasn't it arrived yet?
He cursed and slammed the glass down onto the table.
As a promising billionaire, he was a distinguished guest of this nightclub and enjoyed permanent use of this VIP room. To facilitate his business, the room's walls were lined with a thick layer of soundproofing padding, ensuring that no matter how loud it became inside, nothing could be heard from outside.
