The room remained silent for a long time, as Marcus did not answer immediately. Instead, he remained seated, his intense focus locked with Vincent's eyes.
Jones felt the air begin to go hot in his chest as bile threatened to lodge in his throat. Vincent had offered everything Marcus had come there for. Everything to the T. Full resources, budget, control, and all wrapped on a silver platter, and called a job.
Vincent, the man who had spent four years rebuilding Thug from the ashes Marcus left behind, had just bent. Again. Like he always did when Marcus crooked a finger.
He could already see it: Marcus strolling back in like a conquering king, reclaiming his throne, turning the label upside down all over again with his "artistic integrity" bullshit while the rest of them scrambled to keep the lights on. Four years of careful modernization, of profitable decisions, of finally dragging Thug into the present. All gone.
