Wang Jing was on her fourth phone call, her voice sharp and commanding as she tried to coordinate damage control across seven different platforms simultaneously.
"....don't care what the trending topics say, we need to flood the zone with alternative narratives..."
"...legal team needs those documents within the hour or we can't..."
"...NO, do NOT let anyone from the company make statements without clearance..."
Then the conference room door slammed open.
Feng Ting ran in, breathless, his usually perfect appearance destroyed, shirt untucked, glasses askew, sweat staining his collar.
"Sir.... sir... Yueling just posted a statement..."
Every conversation stopped.
Wang Jing grabbed the phone from him with such force she nearly dropped it, her eyes scanning the screen with the intensity of someone defusing a bomb.
The room held its collective breath.
Then Wang Jing began reading aloud, her voice steady but strained.
The statement was short. Controlled. Perfect.
