285 THE PANIC

The mahogany conference table gleamed under the harsh fluorescent lights but offered no warmth to the gathering storm. Luke, perched at the head of the table, felt the collective weight of scrutiny from the board members and investors like a physical pressure. Their faces, usually etched with quiet confidence, were now etched with worry lines deeper than any spreadsheet Luke had ever seen. At the other end of the table, Mr. Thorne, the company's largest investor, a man whose booming voice usually commanded a room, tapped his manicured nails impatiently against the polished wood. Each sharp click echoed in the tense silence, a metronome keeping time with Luke's rising anxiety. "Luke," Mr. Thorne finally spoke, his voice clipped and devoid of its usual booming confidence, "we need answers. This is the third time this month that a sizable chunk of money has vanished from our accounts. Our investors are growing restless." A chorus of murmurs rippled around the table, a tide of discont