Ten men fidgeted while sitting at the long glass table of the conference room. A few talked amongst themselves in hushed tones, while others typed away at  their laptops, staring intently at the LED screens. No matter what anyone said or did, they couldn't shake off the unbearable sense of foreboding at the back of everybody's mind.

At the head of the table sat Fernando Rubair. Both of his hands were placed casually on the table: the fingers of the right drummed impatiently against the cool glass surface while the other's ring-embellished fingers kept flexing repeatedly.

On his right sat his son, Maximilian, who was dressed professionally—much like the other members of the conglomeration—in a blue Hugo Boss suit and tie, and his hair was neatly combed back into a man-bun. The stale air of restlessness translated into Maximilian's constant shifting in his seat. Albeit his movements were fractional, his paranoia led him to believe that everyone's gaze and judgement were upon him. He loosened the collar of his dress shirt.

The fact that he was sitting in close proximity to his father didn't help with his uneasiness, but as the heir to an empire, he didn't really have a choice in his seating arrangements. He watched his father from the corner of his eye—even though the man's attention wasn't directed towards him, he could still feel the displeasure emanating from the same green eyes he had unfortunately inherited.

That was the one thing Max hated the most. No matter how much he tried to be a different man from his father, the fact of the matter was that he was the blood of his blood, his kindred. Max would always resemble him, be it in his appearance or seemingly innocuous gestures, whether he liked it or not.

Due to their differences, their relationship was like a Beetle trying to navigate a rocky road. However after their last conversation, it had punctured a tire and veered off a cliff, bursting into flames for good measure.

At the far side of the table, cowering behind abnormally thick round glasses and a stack of notes was the head chemist. His balding head bobbed up and down as he kept fiddling with the remote for the projector, and he turned is myopic gaze towards the screen, on which a red error symbol kept blinking unabashedly.

Rubair was on the verge of blowing a fuse.

Finally—maybe it was his guardian angel that suggested this—the scientist managed to switch off the projector and place the remote on the table, admitting defeat at his technological incompetency.

He timidly cleared his throat, straightening the stack of paper on his desk. Somehow, and Max nearly facepalmed himself because of this, the poor man managed to lose his grip on the stack, dropping them onto the floor.

A sudden boom came from the head of the table.

"Enough!" Rubair roared, smashing his fist down with enough force to leave a hairline crack.

Max mused, sadistically, that if his father had hit any harder, the table would've smashed, cutting his hand like minced meat.

A sudden hush fell upon the room. Nobody dared to look at Rubair, nor even think about him. Instead, everyone turned to look at the culprit, who was on the verge of bursting into tears.

Rubair pinched the bridge of his nose then dragged his hand down his face, "Time is money, and you're wasting it!" He breathed heavily, attempting to control his rage. "Proceed, with or without it.

The head researcher nodded earnestly, adjusting his glasses and clasping his hands together in front of him, "Unfortunately, I have some bad news sir," The man ducked his head, bracing himself for another onslaught.

Both Rubair and his son's eyes widened simultaneously. "Well? I'm waiting!" He flared up again when the man didn't say anything.

"It appears—that the thieves have stolen more than just the prototypes," he began, and as soon as he said this, the room erupted with bewildered mutters.

Max blinked.

"Let the man speak!" Rubair hollered over the cacophony, slamming his hand down multiple times in order to silence them. The muttering gradually subsided, leaving the man grinding his teeth in his seat at their childish behaviour.

"Along with around three hundred pills, also the only container of catalyst we have has gone missing, along with the notes on how to make it. "

A few looks were exchanged around the room.

First the pills. Now the catalyst? Why the hell is he making this known only now?

His mind wandered to the call of the night before. She'd found it. It was only a sample, but the information that would accompany it would be more valuable—if something would surface at the company's meeting, he'd be able to connect the two. 

The scientist hesitated before beginning his explanation, carefully picking out the words that would ease the comprehension of the issue, "With a catalyst, chemical reactions occur much more rapidly, and require less activation energy—"

"We know what a catalyst does, fool! Get to the point!" Someone shouted. The others grumbled in agreement.

"Please, let me finish—" said, annoyance creeping into his voice. He looked at Rubair for help, who waved him on, "Without the catalyst, production has been slowed by more than eighty percent, and without the notes...well this has set us back a lot, frankly."

Rubair rubbed his temple, then ran a hand through his gelled up hair. His eyes flicked back and forth as he thought of something to say. "How long will it take for this—issue—to be resolved?" He asked, waving his hand around.

The scientist looked up for a moment, mumbling something under his breath and counting his fingers. 

"Two weeks, three at most."

"That's too damn long!"

Max pensively ran his thumb over his knuckles, tuning out the ensuing argument. He knew it wouldn't be long before they began to blame it on Zara again, that was inevitable. Max looked around, absorbing the frustration and rage of all the individuals in the room. If he spoke up, all that anger would be directed to him, and his father would once again be disappointed. His thoughts whirl-winded around his head, unable to settle in one place.

"We need to weed those bastards out and kill them all! We can't afford this setback, Fernando," Gabriel Marquez yelled, jabbing the air with his finger. Max's eyes shot up to him. He was his father's right-hand man, the one in charge of the company when his father was away on business. A short boxed beard—speckled with grey— adorned the lower half of his face, while a thick mop of curly black hair sat on top of his head.

As Max observed him, and his wild, unfathomable gesturing, he noticed that something was bizarre about his demeanour. The sparkle in his eye, the way he so passionately argued his case. This was more than just him wanting justice to be done—the man was hiding something.

"With all due respect, father, I have something to say," Max said, without tearing his accusative glare off the traitor.

As the youngest and second-most important man in the room, Max was already hated. Now, he was going to give them a good reason to make them absolutely despise him. Rubair looked at him with a silent warning in his eyes, his mouth set in a thin line.

"Where do I begin—" Max pulled his chair closer to the edge of the table and he tapped his chin with one finger. "—Okay. So I'll start with the pills. Let's say that a common thief was in fact able to bypass complex security systems with the aid of accomplices in order to steal the pills, and has gotten away with it, for now."

Max looked around the room, revelling in the attention that they were now giving him.

"That would be perfectly credible. Most thieves just know what can be sold on the streets to ordinary people that have at least some value. Ecstasy should be easy to distribute, and make a quick buck out of, especially amongst teenagers at a party."

"What are you saying boy—" Gabriel interrupted, throwing daggers at Max with his intense glare.

"Let him speak, Gabriel." Rubair said, putting his hand up. Gabriel looked at him, his mouth opening and closing. He was expecting Rubair to back him up on this, but the betrayal had him curling his hands into fists in front of him, seething with anger. Rubair nodded his head towards his son and Max smiled at his support.

"As I was saying, stealing the catalyst plans would take major organisation, and the prior knowledge to make use of it. Honestly, what would a bunch of teenagers do with it?" He asked, knowing that he had caught them in a snag. These men had children of their own, yet they never spared any of their time to spend it with them. Even though there were a lot of things about the business world that Max wasn't aware of due to his inexperience in the trade, there were things that also they didn't know that he could use against them. This was one of them.

A few awkward coughs broke the silence.

"The boy is right," the scientist, who until this moment was listening attentively, said, "Basing myself solely on what he has said, I'd like to add that reverse engineering this drug—and I am going to assume that rather than simply selling it, the thieves intention is to clone it—is nearly impossible, and require a tremendous amount of time and money to happen."

Damn. The man's support startled Max, but he quickly recovered with a nod. "Yeah. Not only that, but for someone to steal a formula, they'd have to have some inkling of what they were doing. Alright, they might have the instinct that it's valuable somehow, just because it was locked up or something, but even then it would take a chemist to be evaluated. Come on guys," Max snorted, practically laughing at them in their face. Their ruse was so transparent that you had to be blind to not be able to see through it.

You must be real mad, Gabriel.

The man was so furious, he had developed a nervous tic in his eye from holding it back. Max expected the man's hands around his neck any moment now so that he would have the excuse to punch the man to a pulp, the dirty traitor.

Suddenly, his facial features eased into a smug look, as if he had an ace up his sleeve.

"Let's say that all your speculations are right, boy," Gabriel made sure to emphasise the 'boy', just to get on Max's nerves, "Even though they themselves would not have the knowledge or the use for either the drug or the plan, perhaps they were just hired by someone that has all this knowledge. Then that would make their jobs much more simple."

The men around him concurred with him, and they all looked at Max with the same sneer that Gabriel had on his face. Even his father looked at him, but with a stony expression which Max attempted to decipher. Was he disappointed? Ashamed?

Or maybe—and this was pushing his luck—proud?

Either way, Max was stumped. Gabriel did have a point, and it was heard to counteract his argument. He thought for a moment, but then the answer dawned on him.

"Maybe you're right," the laughter died down when Max unexpectedly spoke up again, "but for that someone to be able to direct such a complicated operation, they have to know the security system like the back of their hands, in addition to knowing all the respective codes in order to get through to it, and know where the plans and catalyst are in the first place. This means—that someone is an insider. One with a lot of power for that matter."

-:-

When the storm in the boardroom abated, Rubair finally dismissed everyone.

Max too joined the crowd shuffling out of the room, but his father called out his name. Grinding his teeth, Max slowly made his way back to his seat. Rubair scratched the underside of is jaw without looking at his son. 

"You did a fine job out there, Max." He said, patting his back with his bejewelled hand. Max couldn't believe his ears.

What?

"T-thank you." Maximillian stammered,  raking a hand through his hair. 

Rubair raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Don't stammer, mi hijo. It's a sign of weakness—unlike what you did today. You'll make a fine leader." Max's smile was genuine this time.

"Now let's go. I am quite hungry," He stated, standing up. Max nodded and joined, still incredulous about his father's words.

They left the conference room, and they were about to make their way together down the corridor, when one of the board members politely pulled Rubair to one side, a worried look on his face. His black hair was styled into a Caesar haircut, and he wore a silver suit which complemented his blue eyes. The man's gaunt features made him look sickly; or maybe Max was just imagining it.

He was also about to stop, but Rubair urged his son to go ahead without him. "Reserve a table at Le Bernardin. Three PM." He waved.

Max nodded and gave him a thumbs up, making his way to the elevators feeling good about himself.

-:-