Chapter 26. Breaking Point

The office was too quiet. Max stood before the floor-to-ceiling windows that wrapped the corner conference room, watching the city drift below like a living blueprint of ambition and urgency. The skyline pulsed with muted life: taillights weaving ribbons of red through gridlocked avenues, buses arcing wide at intersections, pedestrians swarming crosswalks in synchronized determination. Normally, that controlled chaos soothed him. Tonight, it looked like an unfettered tempest—order only in theory.

Behind him, the conference room still thrummed with residual tension. The overhead lights glowed faintly; the hum of the ventilation system was the only soundtrack. On the polished walnut table lay scattered notes—bullet points half-erased, hastily scrawled diagrams, empty coffee cups flecked with lipstick and stained grounds. A speakerphone blinked red where someone had abruptly disconnected the last call. In his mind, he still heard the echoes of anxious voices and clipped apologies