Inside the car, the ride was silent. The kind of silence that presses against the skull, making every thought feel louder than it should.
Even I felt doubt gnawing at the edge of my mind.
However, I couldn't afford to look weak. My reward depended on how domineering I appeared. Time to turn my arrogance dial up a notch.
Thirty minutes later, we arrived at a two-story building. Harold guided me inside, and the guard promptly led us straight to the manager's office on the second floor.
The door opened before I could knock, and there he was—Mr. Dennis Kersey, the branch manager.
Tall and thin, he wore a charcoal suit that looked brand new. His hair was slicked back perfectly, and a pair of gold-rimmed glasses balanced neatly on his nose. He got that smooth, fake smile of someone who'd spent years learning how to look friendly.
"Mr. Mercer, please have a seat," he gestured toward the chair directly in front of his wide polished wooden desk.
