The yellow cab slammed on its brakes outside the towering glass monolith of Santana Corp.
Alexandrea threw a crumpled fifty-dollar bill over the seat. She didn't wait for the change. She kicked the door open and sprinted across the concrete plaza.
She burst through the revolving doors into the massive marble lobby. The security guards at the front desk gave her startled looks as she slapped her ID badge against the turnstile and shoved her way through.
She ran to the executive elevator bank and slammed her hand against the call button.
The silver doors opened. She stepped inside and hit the button for the top floor. The doors slid shut, sealing her in the metal box.
As the elevator shot upward, the familiar, suffocating grip of claustrophobia wrapped around Alexandrea's throat. The walls felt like they were shrinking. The air grew thin.
Sweat broke out on her forehead. Her chest heaved as she took short, shallow breaths. She reached out and gripped the metal handrail, her knuckles turning white. She squeezed her eyes shut and counted backward from ten, forcing her military-grade mental discipline to push the panic down.
Ding.
The doors slid open. Alexandrea gasped for air and stepped out onto the executive floor.
The atmosphere hit her instantly. It was wrong.
Usually, this floor hummed with the quiet, efficient energy of billion-dollar deals. Today, it was as silent as a graveyard. The air pressure felt heavy, oppressive.
Every single employee was glued to their monitors. No one was talking. No one was walking around. The only sound was the frantic, terrified clicking of keyboards.
Alexandrea kept her head down and walked quickly toward her cubicle.
As she passed the glass-walled breakroom, a hand shot out, grabbed her arm, and yanked her inside.
It was Annie. Her face was pale, her eyes wide with terror.
"Where the hell have you been?" Annie hissed, keeping her voice barely above a whisper.
"I overslept," Alexandrea whispered back, her heart racing. "Is it bad?"
"Bad?" Annie let out a hysterical, breathless laugh. "He's acting like a psychopath. He fired three VPs before 9 AM. The Director of Planning came out of his office crying."
Alexandrea's stomach twisted into a tight knot.
"And worse," Annie grabbed Alexandrea's shoulders. "He's called my desk five times asking if you've badged in. He is hunting for you."
Alexandrea felt the blood drain from her face. Barron was a tyrant, yes, but he never cared about the comings and goings of a low-level assistant. This level of rage meant something else.
Before Alexandrea could process the fear, a sharp knock hit the breakroom glass.
Both women jumped.
M. Thorne stood on the other side of the glass. His face was a blank, emotionless mask. He pushed the door open and looked directly at Alexandrea.
"Miss West," Thorne said, his voice clipped and cold. "Mr. Santana is waiting for you."
Annie shot Alexandrea a look of pure pity and scurried out of the breakroom, rushing back to her desk.
Alexandrea's legs felt like they were made of lead. She forced herself to walk.
She followed Thorne down the long, carpeted hallway. Every step felt like a march to the executioner's block. She could feel the eyes of her coworkers burning into her back.
Thorne stopped in front of the heavy frosted glass doors of the CEO's office. He stepped aside and gestured toward the handle. He wasn't going in with her.
Alexandrea took a deep, shaky breath. Her hand trembled as she raised it and knocked on the glass.
