The conversation had shifted again.
Not softer.
Not smarter.
Just meaner.
What started as a casual strategy had twisted into something else—a slow burn of ego, greed, and hunger masked in silk and gold.
They weren't talking about markets anymore.
Or logistics.
They were talking about control.
"How long do you think she'll last?" the man in the white shirt asked, tossing a grape into his mouth like it was a coin flip. "After we start pushing?"
"She's stubborn," said the bald man, "but not bulletproof. You pull out her foundation, she'll wobble like the rest."
"Still," said the younger man, "she's got backers. People who don't show their faces."
"So do we," someone replied.
The room hummed with that smug, confident kind of energy that only appeared when everyone thought they were the smartest one there.
"She built too fast," said the one with the vest. "That's the weakness. There's no depth yet. You hit the top layer hard enough, the rest caves in."
