The boardroom was silent, but not the peaceful kind.
It was the kind that pressed on one's chest—thick, breathless, heavy with judgment.
Morning light cut through the tall glass windows, falling in sharp lines across the table. The An Group crest gleamed on the far wall, polished to perfection. Everything in the room was immaculate—except for the air.
An Zhiguo sat rigid at the end of the table. Across from him, An Hongsheng presided with quiet authority, papers laid neatly before him.
Ever since An Hongsheng handed the company over to An Yancheng, he rarely came in. But on this very day—when the task was to cast out his own brother—he chose to be here himself.
He supposed, in a way, it was only fitting.
Perhaps, somewhere along the line, he had made a mistake too. He hadn't been ruthless enough.
