30″The lobby’s chaos, but she’s still—leaning by the espresso bar, calm like the market’s never touched her. I clock the blazer, the quiet confidence. Not a trader. Not like the rest.
“You don’t work here,” I say. “You don’t move like you’re on a clock.”
She glances over. “I’m waiting for someone who thinks he controls one.”
I smirk. “Julian King, right?”
“Depends who’s asking.”
She steps into the elevator. “Coming?”
Yeah. I’m all in.
Comments
0No comments yet.