Nervous energy.
He spotted Harold, and his face shifted.
Part relief.
Part guilt.
"Mr. Moore, I'm so sorry for the wait. Please, follow me."
They rode the elevator to the 38th floor in silence.
Douglas kept adjusting his tie.
His hands wouldn't stay still.
He knew something the rest of the building didn't.
He knew exactly who Harold Moore was.
The elevator doors opened.
A long hallway stretched ahead, lined with glass-walled offices and framed portraits of the company's founders.
At the end of the hallway was a set of double doors.
Behind those doors sat a boardroom with a mahogany table, crystal water pitchers, and 12 leather chairs.
12 executives were already seated.
Quiet conversations.
Expensive watches.
The low hum of people who believed they were the most important individuals in any room they entered.
Douglas opened the door.
Harold stepped inside.
Then the door at the opposite end of the room swung open.
Richard Whitmore walked in last.
Custom navy suit.
Gold cufflinks.
The stride of a man who owned every room before he entered it.
He scanned the faces around the table, nodding at each one.
Then his eyes landed on Harold.
He stopped.
His jaw tightened.
His chin lifted.
His nostrils flared just slightly, like he'd caught a smell he didn't like.
Douglas stepped forward.
"Richard, this is the investor I mentioned. This is..."
"I can see what this is, Douglas."
The room went quiet.
What Richard did next would cost him everything.
His company.
His reputation.
His entire empire.
And he did it in front of 12 witnesses who would remember every word.
Richard Whitmore walked toward Harold Moore the way a man walks toward something he wants removed from his property.
Not fast.
Not slow.
Deliberate.
Every step measured.
Every inch of his posture designed to communicate one thing.
You are beneath me.
He stopped 3 feet from Harold.
Close enough to make it personal.
Far enough to make it clear he would never close that gap.
Harold extended his hand.
It was a simple gesture.
The most basic act of professional respect.
A handshake.
The kind of thing that happens 10,000 times a day in buildings like this one.
Two men meeting for the first time.
One hand reaching toward another.
Richard looked at that hand.
Then he looked at Harold's face.
Then back at the hand.
His upper lip curled.
Just barely.
Just enough for everyone in the room to see it.
"Don't touch me."
Three words.
Said quietly.
But they landed like a brick thrown through glass.
Harold kept his hand extended.
Steady.
No tremor.
No hesitation.
"Sir, your CFO invited me. I have the proposal your team requested."
Richard didn't blink.
"I don't care who invited you. I didn't approve of this. And I certainly didn't approve of someone like you walking into my boardroom like you belong here."
Someone like you.
Harold let those words settle.
He didn't flinch.
Didn't react.