Every syllable was a twenty-ton iron ingot dropped onto his coffin:
“You told me that we are a business.”
“You told me that I should have kept driving.”
“You told me that a human life didn’t matter because a pitch mattered more.”
I leaned down until my eyes filled his entire field of vision:
“You have precisely twelve minutes to clean out your desk, Nick.”
“Take your Gucci loafers.”
“Take your dry martinis.”Sofas & Armchairs
“And as for your agency…?”
A slow, radiant, permanent smile broke across Sebastian Miller’s face:
“…I believe the cleaning crew knows my daughters’ names.”
*CLICK-CLACK.
*
Two federal marshals hauled Nick Sterling to his feet by his armpits, dragging his designer shoes through the spilled champagne and the shattered crystal, marching him down the central hallway toward the freight elevator.
The double doors closed behind them with an authoritative, airtight, pneumatic *THUD*.
The boardroom returned to silence.
