ROWEN

It was late afternoon when James walked into my office without knocking. That was unlike him. I didn’t even look up at first—just sipped from the tumbler of scotch in my hand while I reviewed the acquisition report from our Zurich branch. The silence lingered. I slowly raised my eyes.

James stood by the door, face unreadable, hands clasped behind his back.

"We have a situation," he said quietly.

I set the glass down.

"What sort of situation?"

He took two steps forward, placed a black folder on my desk, and opened it. Inside was a printed screenshot of a social media post. My eyes skimmed the text.

"Our...