The morning light leaked through the boardroom curtains. Six men, similar in grey hair and grey suits, fidgeted in their leather chairs along the sides of the table. The double doors at the rear of the room burst open; Samuel strode through the doorway and to the head of the table. His blonde hair swirled around his shoulders as he slammed a portfolio onto the table.
“The killings have to stop,” he said.
Johnson and Smith carefully studied the ceiling. Giovanni kept his gaze on the papers he flipped in his lap. Brickman slowly turned off his Blackberry and put it away. Mankiff rolled his eyes and looked at the last man at the table.
Arthur cleared his throat, then addressed Samuel.
“And how, exactly, do you propose to do that?”