Kenneth’s arrogant smirk began to wobble. The name Michael was not unfamiliar on this floor. In fact, Michael Sterling was the Executive Regional President of the bank, whose private office sat on the thirty-second floor penthouse.
Before Kenneth could scoff again, the heavy oak doors of the private executive elevator chimed and slid open.
Sprinting across the polished marble lobby—completely disregarding corporate composure—was Michael Sterling himself, his tie flying over his shoulder and his face flushed with nervous panic. Behind him hurried two senior legal counsels clutching thick leather binders.
"Mr. Sterling?" Kenneth blurted out, stepping around the counter with a nervous smile. "Sir, you didn't have to come down yourself! I’m already handling this trespasser who brought in—"
Michael didn't even look at Kenneth. He practically shoved the branch manager aside as he reached the counter, stopping dead in front of the man in the damp trench coat.
Michael bowed his head with deep, unmistakable reverence. "Grandfather... Arthur. We were expecting your driver at the private entrance. Why didn't you let us know you were walking up from the street?"
Kenneth’s jaw dropped so fast he choked on his own breath. The color instantly drained from his face, leaving him paler than the marble pillars surrounding him.