20
Clarissa remained at the head of the conference table after the meeting ended and everyone else had dispersed. Through the glass tabletop, she could see her Kate Spade ankle boots.
She wasn’t given to tantrums, had never understood them. Her way forward had always been achieved by calm, cool thinking.
At the moment, though, she wanted to kick the table’s legs with her Kate Spade boots until her feet were in bloody shreds.
Not a single one of her department heads had offered any hint of having circumvented her authority and mobilized an SOG team. Thank God they hadn’t lost the C-17 plane, too; that would be almost impossible to explain.
She needed more information to figure out who was after her job but couldn’t think of how to begin.
A message beeped into her phone.
It was a phot
