Victor Frost

挨拶

The scent of polished mahogany and industrial-strength coffee was Victor Frost’s usual morning comfort. It was a smell of control, of quiet, unyielding power. Today, however, that familiar aroma was tainted with a faint, floral sweetness that set his teeth on edge. “Frost, my boy, you’re in early!” Victor resisted the urge to wince. Gerald Finch, Head of HR, was a man whose boisterous enthusiasm grated on Victor’s tightly wound nerves at the best of times.