The Silence of the Experts

The Thorne boardroom was a cathedral of glass and cold, filtered light, but as Elena Vance collapsed, the veneer of corporate order shattered. She didn't fall gracefully; she crumpled, her forehead striking the mahogany with a sickening thud that silenced the room’s frantic, whispered negotiations.

Marcus Thorne stood at the head of the table, his face a mask of aristocratic irritation. He didn't rush to her side. He reached for his phone, his thumb hovering over the speed-dial for his private concierge service—a move that would cost them twenty minutes of transit time they didn't have.

"Clear the table,

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