The C.E.O's Weakness
If even a whisper linked us to something like this, the entire legacy could crumble under political, legal, and public scrutiny.
Mr. Jobes Baker, the round Jewish-American who carried a cigar everywhere, sat across from me with his legs spread wide, puffing thick ropes of smoke into the air.
“The mines are seizing operations,” he said in that irritating accent. If not for his strong ties to the family, I would have driven my fist through his gut.
“Mines?” I scoffed.
“Call them whatever you want, Kai — slaughterhouse, slave field, it doesn’t matter. If it crashes, the soot will roll straight to your doorstep.” He leaned closer, puffing smoke into my face, eyes locked on mine. “What do you sup
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