Edward McCullen paced in his office like a man whose world was built on glass—and he was hearing it crack.
It was nearing midnight. The city outside had long gone quiet, but inside the penthouse-level executive suite of Cullen Corp, silence was an enemy.
A ticking clock on the wall filled the air with unbearable rhythm. Every passing second without an update from his private investigative team was another nail in his corporate coffin.
His phone lay silent on the edge of the desk.
The digital clock beside it flipped: 11:42 PM.
Still nothing.
He dragged a hand across his face, now pale and clammy with sweat. His once-pristine shirt clung to his back. His tie had long been discarded. His blazer was wrinkled and tossed over the leather chair in the corner, forgotten like the calm he once wore like armor.
The empire was collapsing. And worst of all, he didn't know how.
