He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to.There was a firmness in his tone that cut through the room like a blade. The silence lasted only a second—the same second it took Richard Alden to scan the boy from head to toe and decide it had to be a joke. They were on the 43rd floor of the Continental Tower, inside a boardroom that smelled of expensive leather, fresh coffee, and the effortless confidence of men who were used to winning. A massive whiteboard covered one wall, filled with equations—integrals, matrices, variables stacked like someone had tried to trap...
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