Oran Fennel POV
The chair smashed into the wall with a loud crack.
Shards of wood clattered to the floor as Oran Fennel let out a snarl and kicked aside the broken remains.
Papers flew off the desk as he swept his arm across it, sending a glass sculpture crashing to the ground.
"What the hell is happening!?" he bellowed, pacing back and forth behind his overturned desk. "Why are we falling apart like this?"
The office looked nothing like it had yesterday.
Cabinets stood open, contents spilled across the floor.
The thick carpet was covered with broken glass, toppled lamps, and spilled drinks.
Oran's tailored jacket was wrinkled, his tie loose, and the sweat on his forehead glistened under the harsh ceiling light.
He grabbed the edge of his desk again and slammed it with both fists, knuckles red.
"Everything was stable! Profits were steady, partnerships were secure, and now they're vanishing like smoke!"
Across the room, his secretary stood frozen near the door.
