Bitter Taste Of Defeat.

Like hunger driven pests, the press and their paparazzi has flooded into the conference venue the moment word of a conference from Leonica was released. Sitting in the lounge, a few feet away from the stage, Leonica listened to the chatter of the crowd, their voices muffled by the sound proof wall and closed door. "Five minutes still we make a statement," Kennedy announced, pacing the room with his tablet, sometimes having to bark orders at the staff present. "Are you nervous?" A voice whispered close to her ear. "No." She answered and turned her head to the side, locking eyes with the familiar brown ones of Arvan's. "I've had to face worse." Arvan smiled at her words, his expression softening. "True." He said, slipping into the chair beside her. "So, what do you intend to say?" "What is meant to be said. The truth. Nothing but the truth." "Sounds good." "Alright, two minutes, we have to move, Ms. Romero, Mr. Richardson." Kennedy said, pointing his hand towards the door. Taking in a de