He leaned back, spreading his arms slightly.
A performance.
The room was his theater.
Every bully needs seating.
“This is a restricted facility,” he said. “We like to know who’s walking around our house.”
Our house.
I closed the manual.
“My access was approved,” I said.
“By who?”
“Someone who outranks your curiosity.”
His jaw worked once.
“You got a name?”
“Yes.”
“You planning to share it?”
“No.”
He smiled again, but the charm had leaked out.
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