Andrew's breath came heavy, his face slick with sweat. His fists clenched on the armrests of his chair, knuckles white, veins bulging. The room was suffocating—yet Trafalgar remained perfectly still, calm eyes fixed on him as if waiting for a dog to roll over.
The silence stretched until it cracked under Andrew's labored exhale. His head lowered, his jowls trembling as his pride crumbled.
"Fine," he spat, the word dragging across his throat. "The tax will return to ten percent. And… compensation will be provided."
The servants standing against the wall blinked in disbelief. Their master, who never bowed to anyone, had just surrendered to a man half his age. One exchanged a nervous glance with another, lips pressed tight to hide their shock.
Trafalgar gave the faintest nod. 'Very well, this is settled. I want to go and rest at last.'
