The floor-to-ceiling windows of Rodriguez Corporation’s penthouse office bathed the room in cold, sterile light. Damien stood with his back to the door, staring out at the city skyline, a glass of bourbon swirling lazily in his hand. The ice had long since melted— he’d been standing there too long, lost in thought.
Then came a knock.
“Enter.” Damien took another sip as he ordered.
Davis strode in, a manila folder tucked under his arm. His usual swagger was tempered by the tension in his shoulders. He knew better than to interrupt Damien’s brooding without good reason.
“You wanted everything on Emma Smith,” Davis said, dropping the file onto the obsidian desk. “And I mean everything.”
Damien didn’t turn. “Summarize it.”
Davis exhaled through his nose. “Emma Smith. Twenty-five
