CHAPTER 36
KAIREN
My father's idea of team-building involved a mountain, a lot of forced smiles, and the distinct feeling of being watched.
The email arrived with the same sterile weight as a legal summons. Dmitri Kurov requested—which meant ordered—my presence at the annual executive leadership retreat.
The location was a lodge in the Swiss Alps so exclusive it didn't appear on any public maps. The agenda promised trust exercises and strategic visioning.
The real purpose was a cage match in cashmere. Artem would be there. So would every other senior person whose loyalty was a coin I hadn't earned.
"Bring the ghost," my father had added in a separate, shorter message. As if Viktor were an umbrella you packed for bad weather.
So I brought him. The private jet felt smaller with him in it. He read a security briefing on a tablet, his presence a silent, solid thing that made the cabin walls feel closer.
