The Glass Room's Scapegoat

The boardroom of Thorne Redevelopment was a cathedral of glass and filtered, sterile air. Forty stories above the coastal city, the space was engineered to render the world below a collection of manageable, insignificant assets.

Marcus Thorne sat at the head of the mahogany table, his posture as rigid as his legacy. He did not look at his son. He looked at the document in front of him—a legal instrument of erasure.

"Sign it, Elias," Marcus said, his voice devoid of paternal warmth. "It is the only way to salvage what remains of your reputation. You are a liability to the firm, and this document ensures the board—and the public—understands

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