"So, he didn't use any supplement for this achievement, correct?" he asked again.
My answer remained the same: "Correct."
"Then why weren't you able to do that? Why didn't you put in the effort needed?"
The room grew quiet. My own answers boxed me in. Each "correct" I had spoken now felt like a trap, echoing back at me like chains tightening.
I tried to reply, but the words stuck. "I… I—" Nothing came out.
Kiril's eyes narrowed. "You see, Mr. Anderson, your own words betray you. You admit Ryan worked hard without help.
You admit effort alone was enough. And yet you failed. So, what does that make you?"
The board shifted, some whispering, some staring. My hands pressed against the table, but it felt like the table itself was holding me down, pinning me in place like a prisoner awaiting judgment.
I was trapped, not by Kiril's questions, but by my own answers.
Kiril tilted his head, smirked, and asked, "If you don't have any answers, then say it. Don't waste our time."
I had a proper reason for failing to act, but reasons are useless when they cannot be spoken. I wanted to defend myself, yet the words lodged in my throat like stones, heavy and immovable.
I am not one of those who hide behind excuses; I deal in solutions. And even if I were to betray that principle, it would bring me nothing but ruin.
Already, I could hear the words that would leap from Kiril's mouth — sharp, merciless, inevitable.
His voice would slice through the silence, accusing, condemning, twisting the truth until it became a weapon.
I steadied myself, knowing that once he spoke, there would be no turning back. The air felt heavy, filled with the weight of what was coming, pressing against my chest like a storm cloud ready to break.
My heart pounded in my ears, louder than the silence itself, and I wondered if keeping quiet would save me… or break me faster than his words ever could.
Suddenly, Kiril rushed towards me and stood just beside me. I missed a heartbeat at his sudden momentum, the force of his presence crashing into me like a wave, stealing the air from my lungs.
I raised my head to face his rage. But what I saw was unexpected — he had no expression. His eyebrows were relaxed; his eyes were still, yet alive, burning with a strange calm.
So still that I saw a vivid image of the ocean in his eyes. It was so deep and captivating that I felt I was about to be consumed, as though I were standing at the edge of a vast abyss.
But in an instant Kiril moved away and announced, "The meeting has ended. Everyone else, other than Mr. Anderson, may leave."
After hearing this, I became certain that I was trapped at the lowest depth of my life, with no light above me, only shadows pressing closer.
Everyone else left. Ryan and I made eye contact as he was leaving. It seemed he was trying to convey — through his eyes — that he was never a part of all this, that he too was caught in something larger.
But I neglected it, for something bigger, more dangerous, was waiting ahead.
Yes, it was Kiril. I never wanted to admit it, but yes — I was truly scared of him now. I didn't know what he was going to say, and the uncertainty gnawed at me worse than his laughter.
He rolled back the chair. The silence stretched, heavy, as Kiril leaned back, his head tilted.
"You admit Ryan's effort was real," he said slowly, "and you admit no supplement was used. Yet you failed. So, tell me, Mr. Anderson… was it laziness? Or was it weakness?"
He repeated the sentence a few times in a low voice, each repetition heavier, like a hammer striking the same spot. Then he started laughing like a madman, the sound jagged and echoing against the walls.
Seeing this, I said, "I am wondering whether it was an act to scare me or whether you truly are a madman. Because if this was meant to scare me — then let me tell you, not a single strand of mine flickered at your nonsense."
He smirked. "Though ruined, the old arrogance still remains," he said, sitting straight. "Do you know why I did that? Because when you spend all your time watching the ants, you miss the elephant standing right in front of you."
Hearing this, I began to introspect. His words forced me inward, questioning whether I had missed something larger all along, whether my focus had blinded me to the obvious.
"You kept thinking about and observing my actions and words. And I know when I stopped you here alone with me, even then you kept thinking about me, right?" he asked.
"Is there anything else I should have thought about or observed?"
"Of course," he said playfully. "Did you wonder why I assigned you that task the day before yesterday in this meeting? Many employees in this company aren't even aware of my existence."
He bent towards me and whispered in my ear, "Then think — how did he get to know that we are trying to find a loophole in the mayor's contract?"
He does have a habit of blabbering nonsense. But at this moment, he made sense. How did Ryan know about it? And even if he knew somehow…
How did he get access to the mayor's contract?
The question gnawed at me. That file isn't something just anyone can touch — it belongs to one of our VIP clients.
The thought pressed harder, circling in my mind. If Ryan had truly reached it, then either the system was broken… or someone had opened the door for him.
Kiril leaned back, folding his hands as if the question amused him.
"Ah, but you see, Mr. Anderson, locks are only strong when the key is hidden. And Ryan… Ryan found the key."
"What do you mean? Say it clearly. I am not a fan of riddles."
"You know what, Mr. Anderson — in our lifespan there are times when we must do the work we don't like to do."
"The board has left; there is no audience. No applause." I leaned back. "There's no need to hide behind that mask."
"Who's hiding from them?" he leaned forward. "I am hiding from you."
I giggled. "Why? Are you scared of me?"
"No, I am not scared. It's more like an ambush prepared to devastate the enemy," he replied.
"We've only met twice. How did I become your enemy?"
"Who said you are? You're not worth it," he said.
"Then why am I suffering from your rage?"
"Maybe because you deserve it," he replied, his fingers tapping against the table. "Neither I nor the board are your slaves, huh?" he said in a low voice.
Suddenly, he leaped forward and slammed his hand on the table. "You think this was about coffee?"
"No. Coffee was only the curtain — to show you the real play that is going on." His smile returned, thin and sharp.
"They are my slaves," he shouted. "Every word I speak becomes their law, and they follow like dogs with wagging tails, desperate for approval."
"They would lick the floor with pride if I commanded it, as if performing a noble deed," he said softly. "If you want me to prove it, I can command them to do so in the next meeting."
"I don't take pleasure in absurd performances. Play them if you wish, but don't entangle me in your madness."