The Cross Empire lobby smelled of fresh coffee and the kind of polished ambition that rose with the morning traffic. Mr. Carter stepped out of the elevator with a slow, purposeful gait. His suit was neat, his face composed, but there was a tightness around his mouth that spoke louder than the public smile he wore.

At the reception desk the secretary looked up politely. “Good morning, Mr. Carter.”

“Good morning,” he answered, and his voice was steady when he asked, “Is Mr. Cross in?”

“Yes, sir,” she replied with a small, practiced smile. “Give me a few minutes and I’ll let him know you’re here.”

“No need,” Mr. Carter...