Chapter 11
The rosewood table, usually a symbol of the Shen family's enduring legacy, now felt like a polished execution block. In the private meeting room, the warm lights did little to dispel the chill cast by the city tender clock on Qin Zhen's tablet. Each digit that clicked away on the screen was a hammer blow, counting down the restaurant's final minutes under Madam Shen's control.
Madam Shen sat at the head of the table, spine rigid, chin lifted. Her hands, usually