Griffin ended the call, staring at the phone in his hand for a long moment before setting it down on the desk. His expression had hardened, the conflict within him growing more intense with each passing minute. He glanced at the folder Noah had given him, the documents inside now a glaring reminder of the dangerous game he was playing. Pushing it aside, Griffin reached for the glass of whiskey that had been sitting untouched beside him. He took a long, slow drink, the burn of the alcohol doing little to ease the turmoil within him.
I can't keep this up forever, he thought, his mind racing. But if I don't… the whole plan falls apart. Eleanor… you're just another casualty in this war. But maybe, just maybe, I can find a way to keep you out of the crossfire.
The door creaked open again, and Noah stepped inside, his cautious demeanour unchanged. "Sir, what's the plan?"
