I sat down slowly.
The office lights hummed overhead.
My first instinct was embarrassment. Then fear. Then anger, quiet and clean.
Someone had followed us.
Not imagined. Not paranoia. Someone had physically stood across the street or behind a parked car and taken that photograph.
My hands trembled as I reached for my phone.
I almost called Nathan.
Then I stopped.
I heard my own voice from the night before: Let me decide what I can handle.
So I took a photo of the envelope, the picture, and the handwriting. I forwarded everything to my personal email. Then I placed the original in a folder and put it in my bag.
Only after that did I message Harper.
Got something strange at work. I’m okay. I’ll show you later.
Her reply came almost immediately.
Document everything. Don’t panic. Also breathe.
I tried.
At nine-thirty, my manager, Denise, called me into her office.
Denise Alvarez was the kind of woman who could read a spreadsheet like a confession. She had sharp eyes, silver-streaked hair, and a deep dislike for workplace drama. I respected her tremendously and feared disappointing her more than I cared to admit.
“Close the door, Maya,” she said.
My stomach sank.
I sat in the chair across from her desk.
Denise folded her hands. “I received a request this morning from the executive office.”
I kept my face still. “A request?”
“They want you temporarily assigned to a strategic forecasting review.”
My pulse stumbled.
“With Mr. Carter?”
“With a cross-functional team reporting to him.”
The distinction was careful. Maybe intentional.
Denise watched me for a moment. “Do you want the assignment?”
No one had asked me that at Northstar before. Opportunities were usually handed down like weather. You adapted or got soaked.
“I do,” I said slowly. “But I don’t want it if people will think I got it for the wrong reason.”
Denise’s gaze sharpened, not unkindly.
“And what reason would that be?”
Heat rose in my face. “I know people talk.”
“People talk when they’re bored, insecure, or avoiding their own work.” She leaned back. “Your performance record is excellent. Your last three models caught errors senior staff missed. If anyone questions why you were chosen, they can come to me.”
The knot in my chest loosened slightly.
“Thank you.”
“But Maya?”
“Yes?”
“Do not let anyone in this building make you feel grateful for something you earned.”
I looked at her, surprised by the firmness in her voice.
Denise opened a folder and slid a stack of papers toward me. “The review begins at eleven. Conference Room C. Be prepared.”
I left her office with the strangest feeling—still afraid, but no longer quite as alone.
At eleven, I walked into Conference Room C and found six people already seated around the table.
Nathan was not there.
Instead, the meeting was led by Julian Park, the Chief Financial Officer, a composed man in his forties with rimless glasses and a voice that never rose above conversational volume. Beside him sat Priya Shah from Legal, two senior analysts from Corporate Strategy, a product lead named Aaron, and a woman I did not recognize.
She had smooth auburn hair, a cream blouse, and the unmistakable stillness of someone used to being observed. Her eyes lifted when I entered.
I knew before anyone introduced her.
Celeste Whitmore.
The room felt suddenly smaller.
Julian stood. “Maya Bennett, thank you for joining. This is Celeste Whitmore, consultant to the Whitmore investment group.”
