The 52nd-floor executive boardroom of Cross Enterprises Tower was charged with the electric, suffocating tension of an imminent execution. It was four-twenty in the afternoon. Outside the panoramic windows, the sky above Manhattan had bruised into a dark, slate-grey twilight, the lights of the city flickering to life against the gathering storm. Around the fifty-foot Makassar ebony conference table, the eleven board directors sat in tense, nervous clusters. Arthur Davenport…
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