Forty thousand feet above the terrestrial world, the Rosea flagship aircraft sliced silently through the night sky. The private jet was an absolute masterpiece of modern engineering and corporate excess, completely devoid of the cramped, utilitarian design found in commercial aviation. The main cabin had been retrofitted into a sprawling, ultra-luxury penthouse suite, featuring plush leather seating, polished mahogany accents, and a fully stocked crystal wet bar.
It was a sanctuary of absolute, uninterrupted peace.
Boss Solis sat comfortably in one of the oversized leather armchairs, a glass of vintage scotch resting loosely in his hand. He wore a crisp, dark dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, projecting a relaxed but undeniably lethal authority. He was not looking at the glowing financial reports on his tablet. His brilliant, silver-grey eyes were fixed entirely on the man sitting across from him.
