Igor had never run through a corporate office before. He had walked briskly, he had power-walked, but he had never run. Not in the Vasiliev headquarters or in any of the overseas satellite offices.
He always felt that in his line of work, running was for people who had failed to plan ahead. Yet here he was, his polished leather shoes skidding on the marble floors of a high-rise conference center somewhere in Asia.
His tie flapping over his shoulder, his lungs burning as he careened past startled assistants and bewildered security guards. Clutched in his hand was something that was about to change everything. A tablet.
The boardroom doors loomed before him, massive things of frosted glass and brushed steel. Igor didn't knock or pause since he couldn't afford to. He hit the doors with both palms and burst through like a man fleeing a burning building.
"Sir—"
Twenty faces turned toward him. Board directors in immaculate suits, senior executives with their neutral expressions.
