Chapter 3 - The Whispers Along the Glass Corridors
By noon, the news had rippled through every level of Halcyon’s Manhattan headquarters.
When Charlotte walked into the 48th-floor staff pantry for a cup of green tea, three senior analysts stopped talking immediately.
“Morning, Charlotte,” one whispered with forced, nervous politeness before quickly grabbing his mug and exiting into the hallway.
Charlotte stood alone by the espresso machine, exhaling a quiet, weary breath.
Victoria’s words from the previous night echoed in her mind: “Every compliment you got becomes suspect. Every assignment. Every promotion consideration.”
She walked back to her desk. A cardboard storage box filled with twelve years of archived vendor contracts sat beside her chair.
Sitting on the edge of the adjacent partition was Marcus Vance, a talented third-year financial analyst who had often worked late shifts beside her.
“So,” Marcus murmured quietly, spinning a pen between his fingers. “The Chicago Morgan family. Halcyon founder’s bloodline.”
Charlotte looked at him, her hazel eyes steady. “I’m the same person who checked your regression models on Tuesday, Marcus.”
Marcus gave a faint, wry smile. “Yeah. Except on Tuesday, if you made a typo, Victoria would have threatened to fire you. Today, if you make a typo, Victoria will probably worry you’ll fire her.”
“I’m not firing anyone,” Charlotte said. “I’m auditing Harcourt.”
Marcus glanced at the mountain of folders. “Harcourt has handled our linens, food logistics, and luxury toiletries for a decade. Their CEO, Richard Harcourt, plays golf with half our board of directors. If you pull on that thread, you’re not just challenging a duplicated fee—you’re challenging the old guard.”
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Charlotte opened the primary ledger from 2021. “Then let’s make sure our math is bulletproof.”
Marcus hesitated for a second, then pulled his rolling chair over to her desk. “Show me page forty-two.”
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