Caught so directly, Draven looked mortified, a bitter twist to his lips. “You’re right. Grandpa learned about the project failures and decided I’m not fit to manage the company. He’s banned me permanently. He said if I really want experience, I should go find a job at another company.”
“That’s an excellent idea,” Haskell said approvingly. “If you can’t work at a Palmer company, try another major corporation. No one there will coddle you. It will be a true test of your abilities.”
Draven was speechless.
Haskell waved a dismissive hand. “If there’s nothing else, you should go. And help Dad with that funding request. A man his age shouldn’t risk his health over a mere million dollars.”
Draven stood in silence for a moment before mumbling, “…I understand. Please, take care of yourself.”
He turned, his submissive expression vanishing into the shadows as he quickly left the room.
Haskell watched him go, his eyes as dark and deep as a bottomless lake.
…
Outside the hospital, Draven hurried to a black sedan waiting at the curb.
As soon as he got in, Thatch, seated in the back, asked grimly, “Well? Did you manage to win back his trust?”


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