He looked at the numbers. Then, at the shareholding register that his assistant had already pulled and placed in his email.
Nine percent now. The quiet five percent that had become nine in the space of a morning. Seb leaned back in his chair. It was not fine. It had never been fine. It had been patient.
Seb looked at his phone. At the unanswered calls. At the messages stacking from board members and advisors, and the two financial journalists who had somehow already found his personal number and were being very professional about requesting comment on a story that was going to run, regardless of whether a comment was provided.
He looked at the city through the floor-to-ceiling windows of his office. His city. His building. His view.
Creedfly was gone. He knew it with the particular certainty of a man who had done this himself enough times to recognise the anatomy of it from the inside.
