AARON'S POV

I had been sitting there for what felt like an hour, though the clock told me it had barely been fifteen minutes.

My legs were crossed, hands clasped together on my lap, as I stared at the bland, overly polished table in the small, private conference room inside Preston Group.

A stainless steel pitcher of untouched water sat at the center, flanked by two empty glasses. I had poured nothing. I wasn’t here to be comfortable. I was here for answers.

Then the door creaked open. My gaze snapped up.

Mr. Preston stepped in first, suit as crisp as always, though the lines around his mouth looked deeper...