Michael's office was built to make people uncomfortable without saying anything.
The glass walls were clean and wide, stretching from one end of the room to the other. The city below looked distant from where he sat, reduced to lines of moving light and quiet buildings that no longer mattered once you were high enough. The desk in front of him was organized to the point where nothing felt out of place. Tablet to the left. Laptop to the right. Phone centered.
Everything had a position.
Everything had a reason.
Michael sat back in his chair, eyes fixed on the tablet as the same clip played again. Davido's voice entered, the beat followed, and the short moment ended before it could fully settle.
He tapped the screen and replayed it.
He had already seen it before.
More than once.
He was not watching for enjoyment.
He was studying it.
The angle. The reaction. The way the clip was cut. The way it was spreading.
His thumb paused on the screen before he leaned back slowly.
