Sinclair leaned back in his massive leather chair and stared out at the panoramic view below him. The city sprawled out like a glittering mosaic in the late afternoon sunshine. The meeting attendees were squinting as the rays projected directly into the large penthouse boardroom. Sinclair didn't care; he was wearing sunglasses.
Behind him, a lengthy board meeting had just wrapped up, the kind that drained the energy from all those involved. Especially when it was held on a late Friday afternoon. As the last of his colleagues filed out, and their murmurs faded into the distance, Victor remained.
Motionless. His attention focused on the horizon.
He was in no rush to leave.
He loved these meetings. He loved listening to his minions nervously whither on about missed deadlines or achieved targets. He loved saying very little and leaving them to squirm about whether or not they had pleased him. He found that it created the right environment of ambiguity and fear that made his top execs willing to eat their own young to achieve his vision.
That was what he needed. After all, he had grand plans.
The door opened slowly, and Dorian Kross coyly limped inside, meekly knocking on the large black door. His entrance was subdued and hesitant. Victor's chair remained turned. Kross couldn't see him behind the massive leather back, but as he approached, he caught a glimpse of his boss in the reflection of the floor-to-ceiling window he was peering out of. His posture seemingly relaxed but his presence still commanding.
Dorian was pleased by this.
He could do without him looking at him today. His face bruised and battered, he wore a black eye, a bandage encircled his neck like a collar, he walked with a limp, and it hurt when he breathed. The damage was clearly fresh. He probably should have been convalescing somewhere but had felt the need to come in. He wasn't sure if Sinclair would think this admirable or a show of poor judgment.
He took a seat close to Victor, at the head of the table, but not too close. Close enough to convey urgency yet respectful enough of the levels between them. To Dorian, the air felt thick with tension, but he had no idea how it seemed to Sinclair. As Dorian settled in, he adjusted himself slightly to both ease his discomfort and subtly announce his existence.
Victor remained silent, not acknowledging Dorian at all. He stayed fixed on the cityscape outside. The cars moved like ants below while pedestrians crossed the streets, oblivious to the moves men like him made about their lives high above them. The sound of the city echoed faintly through the glass. Horns honked, distant sirens wailed, but here in this room there was no chaos, everything was simpler and clearer. No distractions.
Dorian shifted in his seat, aware that time was ticking by. He opened his mouth as if to speak but hesitated again. A slight furrow creased his brow as he contemplated how to break through Victor's resolute quietude.
Victor finally rotated slightly toward him but did so without fully engaging. Instead, Dorian could see one arm draped over the armrest. Dorian wondered whether this was a cue for him to start talking.
Dorian cleared his throat, his internal tension palpable in the room. "The incident at the Cedar Falls facility has been contained," he finally announced, his voice croaky but resonant.
Victor rotated slightly more again, giving Dorian a fraction more of his attention, but still unwilling to fully engage. "The facility was fully closed down and completely swept within twelve hours of the incident by our containment team," Dorian continued, trying to catch a glimpse of Victor's reaction in the window.
"We are sure we left no trace there. All the inventory from there has been moved to our green site in Colorado. That's nearly at capacity now, Sir." Still nothing from Sinclair.
Dorian continued, by way of a conclusion.
"Even if the Federal Authorities wanted to investigate, they would find nothing, we are certain of that, and our connections in the Justice Department are quietly working on shutting down any enquiries local PD may be making."
Victor remained silent. Time moved slowly for Dorian who shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
"I'm sorry for allowing this to happen, Sir, but…" Dorian began, but Victor cut him off with a sharp gesture of his hand. He clearly had heard everything of any value to him and wasn't interested in hearing an apology.
Victor leaned forward slightly towards the window, his face sharpening into focus in the glass. "We're scaling the program," he said.
Dorian felt a chill run through him at those words. "Scaling, Sir?"
Victor nodded slowly, "Orders have come in from more cities along the east coast. They want us to mop up their unwanted citizens." He spoke the final words in tonal air quotes.
"Right," Dorian said, swallowing hard. The implications for him were immediately unclear to him.
He pondered.
This would be good for him he decided, really good. He relaxed a little at the news. He was going to be rich, or at least a little richer. "We'll need plans put together for more facilities, here and in Europe and Asia," Victor continued, his voice steady and commanding.
"I'll get right on it, Sir," Dorian replied quickly, energised with a new sense of purpose.
"Good," said Victor, "We'll also need to ramp up the sales side of the operation too, there are plenty of rich alcoholics needing new livers out there. I need you to tap into your network and start shifting some inventory. Contact Julie Wells in HR, get her to start hiring some sales people."
"Will do, Sir," Dorian offered a tentative thank you before an awkward silence fell over them again. The awkward tension became almost unbearable for Dorian. It didn't seem to faze Sinclair in the least.
With a final glance at Victor, Dorian stood up and left the boardroom without another word. Victor remained seated, unmoved, silent and still.