Graham's Point Of ViewThe air in my home office felt like it was made of lead, thick and suffocating, vibrating with the frantic hum of my own desperation. I sat hunched over my mahogany desk, the surface littered with spreadsheets that felt like a death warrant. Numbers… cruel, red, uncompromising numbers, stared back at me, each one a testament to my failures.I was trying to stitch together the bleeding wounds of the Sinclair empire, desperately hunting for an investor, a savior, anyone who hadn't heard that we were currently a sinking ship. My coffee had gone cold hours ago, a bitter film forming on its surface, but I couldn't bring myself to care. The door creaked open. I didn't need to look up to know who it was. The rhythmic, heavy gait, the soft sigh of expensive silk, it was Lillian. Even her footsteps sounded tentative now, as if she were approaching a wounded animal. "You've been in here all day, Graham," she said, her voice soft, almost melodic, as she walked in. She wa
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