In the grand boardroom of Ashford company, the soft murmur of voices drifted through the spacious room. Shareholders and directors sat around a table, their postures confidant. Chatting quietly.
Director Piroz, a middle-aged man with sharp features and greying temples, leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming impatiently against the armrest. His eyes flickered toward the head of the table, conspicuously empty.
"Where is the president?" he muttered in irritation.
"Every time he grows more arrogant than the last, making his elders and seniors wait for him as if we have nothing better to do."
Beside him, Mr Zamani adjusted his thin-rimmed glasses, a smirk playing on his lips.
"Well, he has the capital to be arrogant. Wouldn't you agree, Director Piroz?"
Director Piroz glanced meaningfully at the man. His lips curled into a sarcastic smile.
"Capital, perhaps. But if Mr Zamani had not created that illusion, would he be like this?!"
