Marcus looked at me:
“…as the sole, un-encumbered, permanent **Executive Receiver and Managing Director** of this firm.”
The boardroom went into an absolute, breathless, un-survivable silence.
The eight junior partners sitting around the table did not look at Nick.
They did not look at Carter Holbrook groveling in his own blood on the walnut.
They slowly, mechanically rose from their chairs, their hands held flat against their trousers, their heads bowed from the waist with an ancient, terrifying corporate deference as they looked at me—standing before them with the broken photograph of my family in my left hand and the titanium key in my right:
“Sebastian…” the senior creative director stammered, his voice trembling:
“We… we didn’t know… Nick told us you were trying to destroy the agency…”
