“A joke. This has to be a joke,” he thought.
But Zelica’s eyes—the eyes that used to look at him with adoration—were now as cold as the marble beneath his feet.
“Zelica…” he managed to say. His voice cracked. “This… this is impossible. Two thousand acres. Okafor Legacy. Where did you get the money?”
Zelica leaned back in her chair, not answering that question. She turned to Seek.
“Mr. Seek, what do you think of the initial proposal from Quacy Constructions, Inc.?”
Seek, who had been silent like a shadow, spoke. His voice was flat and lethal.
“Conceptually ambitious, but financially very weak. Mr. Quacy, your proposal does not include adequate risk analysis, and your profit projections are too optimistic.”
Quacy felt as if he had been doused with ice water. He had come to dazzle a foolish investor. Instead, he was being audited.
“Wait,” he said, trying to control himself. His arrogance started to return, looking for logical explanations. “Ah, I know. Zelica must just be a puppet. This man, Seek, is the one in control. Zelica just got lucky.”
