The heavy mahogany doors of the executive suite slammed back against the paneled walls with a concussive crack that rattled the crystal decanters on the side table. Arthur Vance’s proxy—a bloated, sweat-drenched corporate shark named Victor Thorne—shrank back into his leather chair, his fingers clawing desperately at the polished oak surface as if he could melt right through it. Leo didn’t rush. He walked forward with the slow, terrifying deliberation of an apex predator closing the final distance on a cornered animal. Every step he took across the thick Persian rug echoed like a gavel dropping in an empty courtroom. "You... you're that kid from the Vance liquidation files," Victor choked out, his voice cracking into a high-pitched squeak as he stared up into Leo’s cold, unblinking eyes. "The federal mar