The transition from conquest to absolute sovereignty was silent.
It didn't happen with a signed treaty or a ringing bell on the stock exchange. It happened in the quiet, microscopic moments when the realization settled into the bedrock of the city: Rebuild Tech wasn't a company anymore. It was the atmosphere.
It was a Tuesday in early April. The harsh, biting freeze of the New York winter had finally broken, leaving behind a crisp, brilliant spring morning.
Ryan stood on the private balcony of the forty-second floor, the heavy glass doors open behind him. He wore a tailored, charcoal-grey suit, no tie, the crisp white collar framing the sharp, unyielding lines of his jaw. He rested his forearms against the reinforced glass railing, looking down at the sprawling, sun-drenched grid of Manhattan.
