Press conference (1)

The conference room was massive, packed with reporters, flashing cameras, and the low hum of hushed conversations. Chris sat beside his mother at the long table, microphones set up in front of them.

His mother was the picture of composure—her back straight, hands neatly folded, her expression unreadable. She looked untouchable, completely in control. But Chris could see it. The faint tension in her shoulders. The way her fingers twitched slightly against the table.

The PR team began, their voices steady and practiced as they delivered the official statement:

"Chairmam Owen remains in critical but stable condition. The company will continue operations as usual under the current board and executive leadership…"

Chris barely heard them. He should have been paying attention, but all he could feel was the weight of the room pressing down on him. The reporters were staring, waiting.