Quinton had painted himself as the poor victim, skillfully drawing out sympathy from the room. He had gone all in, dangling a massive investment as bait. He was convinced the power players of Jayrodale would be fired up, rally to his side, and join forces to crush Andrew completely.

The more he thought about it, the more impressed he was with himself. After all, using others to do the dirty work and riding the wave of influence was downright masterful.

Andrew thought he was untouchable, clinging to those two miracle medicines like a dragon hoarding treasure. However, once Quinton boxed him into a corner, left him begging for air, and drained every last drop of business out of him, he would see Andrew on his knees, pleading for mercy from the Wrights, just for a sip of water.

The fantasy alone made Quinton grin smugly. He half-expected applause at that moment, maybe some shouting, some outrage, someone grabbing their team and storming off to Moonlit Apothecary to cause trouble.