CASSIAN
Boredom, I decided, was a form of violence. It was a slow, psychic poison administered by mediocre minds in expensive suits.
I sat at the head of the glass conference table in Hendrix Corporation's executive wing, a monument to sterile wealth. The Mediterranean glittered beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, a blue so aggressively serene it felt like a taunt.
The agenda was a parade of predictable incompetence: zoning disputes poorly argued, environmental impact reports padded with jargon, timeline delays presented as acts of God rather than failures of planning. It could have been an email. A strongly worded, insulting email.
To my left, Hendrix—Alex—held court. He was performing. The Charming CEO. He nodded at the right moments, smiled the reassuring smile, his attention not on the documents but on the faces around the table, measuring reactions. I filed his performance away with a silent, contemptuous footnote. Amateur.
