Alex sat in the waiting area, studying the minimalist decor with detached interest.
Italian marble floors, abstract art that probably cost more than most people's cars, the kind of calculated elegance that whispered wealth without shouting it.
Through the glass walls, he could see the city stretching out below, a landscape of ambition and carefully maintained hierarchies.
Coming here alone, without Victoria by his side, he'd half-expected a shift in tone... less warmth, less deference.
But the staff's professionalism surprised him. Or maybe it wasn't just professionalism. Maybe it was something else.
Well, he'd know soon enough.
For now, he waited in the reception lounge, sitting back against the leather chair, the low hum of conversation and muted keystrokes filling the air around him.
Then came the sound of hinges... the main door opening.
"Mr. Hale."
