The next day.
Somewhere in the west, almost ten men sat around a huge round table inside a private meeting room. Long-neck microphones stood in front of each of them. The air smelled of expensive cigars and impatience.
At the leader's seat sat a man in his late thirties. His calm face and sharp eyes carried a heavy aura of pressure. Lucas was the kind of man who smiled only when something was about to bleed.
On the screen behind him, one name was boldly displayed.
XIA PROJECT.
"This deal was supposed to be ours," one of the men said, slamming his fingers on the table. "Everything was aligned."
Lucas leaned back slowly. "Until Ezekiel Lane joined."
The room fell silent.
Another man cleared his throat. "Then maybe we should withdraw....."
Several heads turned toward him in confusion. They knew how much money it had cost them, and withdrawing was just like throwing money into the ocean.
