The restaurant was called Le Rêve. It was decorated with crystal chandeliers and ark wood panels. Waiters in crisp white jackets moved between tables with silent precision. A private room had been reserved on the second floor, overlooking the garden.Ronald Sinclair arrived first. He checked his watch. Then his phone. Then his watch again.Zane sat across from him, a leather portfolio on his lap. Inside were months of work. Sketches. Blueprints. Proposals. He had stayed up late for weeks, refining every line, every angle."He will be here," Ronald said. It was not a reassurance. It was a command.Zane nodded, his shoulder stiff.Less than two minutes later, the door opened.Alistair Harrington walked in. His hair was silver, his suit was dark, his eyes were sharp. He was not a tall man, but his presence filled the room. He had built an empire from nothing, and he had never forgotten it."Ronald." He extended his hand.Ronald stood and shook it. "Alistair. Thank you for agreeing to meet
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