Zavian was slouched back in the plush leather chair at the head of the massive glass conference table.
His legs were crossed elegantly in an almost effeminate way that somehow only amplified his aura of supreme power and dominance.
A loaded Desert Eagle pistol sat on the glass tabletop in front of him, the chunky black metal weapon seeming almost comically out of place amid the sleek modern decor, yet ready to dole out death at any slight provocation.
The air in the spacious room was thick with tension as the quivering Managing Director filled Zavian in on all the shady backdoor deals, embezzlement schemes and under-the-table payoffs a few of the directors and major shareholders had been carrying out behind his back.
The losses to Blackthorn industries were easily in the tens of bil
