"Ah, Victor—it's you."
The man behind the desk leaned into the plush seat, his fingers drumming lightly against the polished mahogany surface.
"What information do you have for me?"
Victor Aelhurst stormed into the room, breathing heavily, his belly fat jiggling with each step before he collapsed unceremoniously into the chair opposite.
The wood groaned beneath his weight.
He spoke without delay.
"It's him."
The man did not respond immediately. He simply raised an eyebrow, folding his hands with practiced calm.
"What makes you think it's him?"
He asked.
"I've seen what he can do. It's definitely him,"
Victor said, his voice tight.
"You're walking straight into a trap."
The man sighed, deeply.
"I understand your concerns."
"Then—"
"However,"
He cut in,
"The higher-ups have made it clear. They intend to pursue this matter."
Victor frowned, face creasing in confusion, then disbelief.
"Pursue? You mean—"
"Yes, I do."
The man's tone was flat.
