The Rodriguez Global headquarters in Geneva gleamed in the morning light, its reflective glass façade a monument to wealth and power. In the executive elevator, Alex adjusted his custom Brioni suit, the weight of his father's legacy pressing down on him heavier than the restored Patek Philippe on his wrist—a gift from Carlos on his birthday.
"The board is already assembled," James informed him. "Geneva's faction has been making calls all night. Three directors are wavering."
Alex nodded, his expression betraying nothing of the turmoil beneath. Forty-eight hours since regaining consciousness, twenty-four since last seeing Sonia. Her absence felt like a physical wound.
"And our allies?" he asked.
"Secured, for now. But they'll need reassurance." James handed him a tablet. "The markets are nervous. Rodriguez shares dropped eight percent in overnight trading."
The elevator opened directly into the executive suite, revealing Elena, his temporary assistant. Her efficiency was admirable but
