The clock on the wall struck precisely five-zero-zero. Five deep, resonant chimes reverberated through the 52nd-floor boardroom of Cross Enterprises Tower. Outside, the storm broke. Thunder rumbled across the Manhattan skyline, sheets of rain lashing against the panoramic glass, mirroring the devastating tempest inside the room. Arthur Davenport was the first to attempt to salvage his shattered composure. He cleared his throat, forcing a trembling, brittle smile onto his pale…
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