It started with a whisper. "He's here". The words moved like current through the front gate of Wolfe & co. before anyone saw him.
The gateman stood up straighter, adjusting his already perfect uniform, hands slightly trembling as he nodded to the sleek, matte-black Rolls Royce gliding past the security post.
The driver didn't honk; he didn't need to. Everyone knew that car. Everyone knew Adrian Wolfe was about to walk into the building.
By the time the elevator doors slid open in the lobby, the entire first floor was still. Assistants stopped typing. Phones were answered in whispers. Coffee carts disappeared like ghosts. Even the janitor moved behind the wall.
Then----
Footsteps
Sharp, even, deliberate
Italian leather on marble
Click. Click. Click.
Adrian Wolfe a 30 year old man, 6 '3 feet tall, with piercing gray eyes, jet black hair that always slicked back or slightly tousled after long hours. His skin was a smooth, cool olive tone—like dusk pressed into satin—flawless, unmarked, and untouched by sunlight. He entered in silence, in a perfectly tailored black suit and a stare that didn't scan—it pierced. His presence hit like cold air. He didn't speak; he never greeted. He never did
The receptionist nearly dropped her tablet. The interns bowed their heads like prey in front of a lion. As he stepped into the elevator, no one dared join him. When the doors closed silence returned, but it felt worse. He was in the building now. The countdown had begun.
17th Floor—Executive Boardroom
The meeting was scheduled for 9:00am. At 8:55, everyone was already seated. Notebooks open, Suits straight, throat dry.
The tension was thick enough to chew.
One employee whispered, "If he's in a black tie today, it's a bad day".
"Shut up", another hissed. "Do you want to get fired?"
Then came the sound.
The elevator ding.
The boardroom doors opened. And he walked in.
Adrian Wolfe didn't look around. He didn't need to. His silence was enough to command attention from the walls themselves. His gaze scanned the table slowly, landing on every employee like a laser sight.
No one breathed.
He pulled out a chair at the head of the table, unbuttoned his jacket, and sat down with the calm of a man who could start a war with a whisper.
"Let's begin" he said "I've read four versions of the same reports. All of them lied to me in different fonts. If I wanted fiction, I'd hire novelists."
A few heads twitched. Eyes dropped to laptops. No one dared explain.
"You lied to me," Adrian continued. "Not directly. No one ever does. But you lied in your laziness. You lied in your silence. You lied with numbers that don't match and strategies that insult my name."
Someone coughed, Adrian looked up
"Was that fear choking you? Good. That means it's working."
He stood. and walked slowly to the edge of the table.
"Wasting my time is the fastest way to lose this job. Yet, here I am reviewing graphs that belong in trash bins, not in executive briefing."
The room froze. Then a shaky chair moved back. Aubrey Tin, the project manager, stood. Mid-30s, sharp suit, but his voice was cracking around the edges.
"Sir, please…...If I could just—just explain."
Adrian turned slowly, fixing him that cold, unforgiving stare. "You have thirty seconds."
Aubrey swallowed, voice steadying slightly.
"The numbers were pulled before the new data set came in. We were under pressure to submit something. I take full responsibility, but the intention was never misled—only to keep pace with your deadlines, sir." He took a shaky breath. glanced around.
Another person cuts in.
It was the Chief Technology Officer. Her name was Kim Roses who was nicknamed the "digital ice Queen" or "Wolfe Mirror".
A 34-year-old golden caramel, smooth skinned woman, with jet-black bob, sleek and blunt, on all monochrome power suits, matte lipstick and statement heels, clean, crisp and expensive. She was the daughter of a Ghanaian systems analyst and a Korean robotics engineer. At 14, she built her first app. At 22, she hacked an international simulation during her MIT final—and got hired on the spot. She joined Wolfe & Co. as a junior developer and climbed the ladder in heels—with brilliance and brutal efficiency. She doesn't just run the tech. she is the tech.
She cuts in. "I understand your standards. I've worked here for six years trying to meet them. I've pulled all-nighters. I've taken accountability. But this--this wasn't about laziness. It was about a team trying to keep up with the pace you set. I'm not asking you to excuse it. I'm asking you to let me fix it."
Adrian stared at everyone. Not with sympathy. But with silence so sharp, it felt like a final decision being written. He turned back to the table.
Then he said, "You all failed me this week, but I'm offering you something rarer than a paycheck. (He let the words hang) a second chance not because you deserve it. But because I want to see if anyone in this room is still worth my name on your pay slip.
Spines straightened. Heads slowly lifted. "You've got 72 hours. Impress me. Flex your ideas. Deliver brilliance or pack your desk."
Adrian closed his folder with a snap. The room jolted. He stood. Every inch of him is cold, commanding, tailored like a weapon. "If I see another coward slide silently across my table, I won't hold meetings. I'll hold exits."
He turned on his heel, "Alex!"
His Personal assistant whose name was Alexander Blackwood nicknamed "Wolfe shadow" by employees. Jet-black, low fade—always neat, 31-year-old man. Fell into step behind him like a trained shadow. The boardroom doors opened. And Adrian Wolfe walked out—without looking back. He didn't need to.
Wolfe had left the room but his grip.
Still there.