ROWEN

The Manhattan skyline outside my office window had begun to bleed into a dusky orange, casting long, gold-edged shadows across the towering skyscrapers.

The city buzzed below with cabs honking, sirens wailing, the low hum of ambition that never really slept.

But from the penthouse floor of Grayson Towers, it was all just static in the background. I had my sleeves rolled up, tie loosened, the top two buttons of my dress shirt undone.

The entire surface of my desk was littered with contracts, project briefs, and proposals that needed my signature before day’s end.

Sundale’s expansion documents alone had already pissed me off three times today. The legal...