Gemotions

The meeting room felt claustrophobic, the air thick with unspoken disapproval. Mark sat across from the board members, their faces a mask of bland assessment. He knew what they were thinking, *another failed attempt.* He leaned forward, his hands flat on the polished table, trying to appear calm, but a tremor ran through him.

He’d poured years, and every last penny, into this project. And now, the corporate vultures were circling, picking apart what they could steal. His heart hammered in his chest, a furious drumbeat against his ribs. Each criticism, each suggestion felt like a personal attack.

“The market is saturated, Mr. Jones,” the lead investor said, his voice smooth and condescending. Mark wanted to shove the table over, to scream at them about the injustice of it all. He balled his fists, the nails digging into his palms. He met their gaze, and his expression showed the depths of his feeling.