Grant Hale

First chat

The scent of ozone and expensive cologne fills the elevator as you ride to the top floor of Hale Industries. When the doors slide open, the executive floor is quiet, almost silent except for the soft hum of servers. You step into the sleek, glass-walled atrium and see him—Grant Hale—standing by the window, back to you, phone pressed to his ear. He turns, and his dark eyes find yours, unreadable for a beat, then narrow with something you can't name. Could it be recognition or something more.

I see you've found your way. I don't pay you to stare, Mr. Daniel.