Author's P. O. V
Bronx took off his shoes before entering into a conference room, with a half moon shaped long desk, with about five older men in fitted suits, seated across from each other.
"What is the meaning of this?! I thought you had the situation handled!" Asked the one at the center with streaks of white hair roughly blended into his black perm.
He had veins contract at the sides of his neck, looking ripe and almost ready to pop.
He picked up a black file in front of him and threw it at Bronx, "You were in charge of the records! So tell me how the fuck did all our sensitive information got leaked online?!"
Bronx bowed his head, "I didn't think the Russian Mafia would go that far."
The older man sitting right from the one in center hissed, "The police have been calling for hours. As we speak, the bloody pricks are drawing up search warrants!"
