Rain pelted against the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse, distorting the city lights below into blurry constellations. David Harrison stood motionless, silhouetted against the stormy panorama. The crystal tumbler in his hand caught the muted light as he swirled the amber liquid thoughtfully, ice clinking against glass in a quiet rhythm.
Fifty-two floors above the city, he watched as people scurried below like insects, umbrella-topped dots hurrying through the downpour. How small they all looked from up here. How insignificant.
The corner of his mouth twitched upward. That's what power felt like—this distance, this perspective. Seeing the whole board when everyone else was merely pieces on it.
His phone vibrated against the marble countertop behind him. David didn't turn immediately, taking his time with another sip of the eighteen-year-old scotch. Let them wait. The world operated on his schedule now.
