The great halls of power buzzed with whispers, the air charged with unseen currents of fate. Word had spread like wildfire, and now Gin's name echoed through every corridor, from the city gates to the sprawling towers of West Ham.
Yet fame alone could not shield him from the intrigues that simmered beneath the surface.
In the shadowed corner of a private chamber, a cloaked figure leaned in with a knowing smirk. "One might think with such renown, she'd have no need for other work," the man—Jay—mused, his voice steeped in mystery. "But not this woman. She runs an enterprise called Sync, a formidable IT company."
"A company?" Gin raised an eyebrow, skeptical.
"Yes. She's the CEO, though her own stake is modest—just about ten percent. The Willex family holds the majority, around fifty percent. A gift from the house she belongs to."
Gin's eyes narrowed. "And this has what to do with the job?"
