Arthur's voice booms from the hallway. “Let’s go. Time is money, and we’re burning both.”
The dots disappear. She stops typing.
“Coming,” I yell back.
I shove the phone into my pocket and grab the file. I can check it under the table. I just need to be in the room.
The War Room is a glass-walled aquarium designed to intimidate. A long mahogany table dominates the space, surrounded by chairs that cost more than my first car.
Miller sits at the head, a silver-haired shark in a three-piece suit. He doesn’t look up when Tabitha and I enter. He’s dissecting the elevations, his red pen slashing through our skyline.
“Sit,” he commands.
I take the seat to his right. Tabitha sits opposite me.
“The wind shear analysis is weak,” Miller says, tossing the rendering onto the polished wood. “The structural integrity at that altitude is shaky. Ross, I need you to walk me through the logic here. Why did we propose the cantilever?”
Not again. This could have been an email. I’d gotten off the phone half an hour ago with Dubai’s engineer and already explained. As the client, they approved.
I reach for the schematics, but my hand brushes my pocket.
Bzzzt.
A vibration against my thigh. Long. Sustained.
A call.
It’s not a text. Someone is calling me. Margot never calls during work hours unless it’s an emergency.
My heart hammers against my ribs. I reach for my pocket.
“Phones on the credenza,” Arthur says. He doesn’t even look up. “You know the rules in the War Room. No distractions. We have four hours to perfect this, and I want your brains here, not on your emails.”
I freeze. “I,”
“Credenza, Ross,” he snaps, his eyes finally lifting. They are cold, dead chips of flint. “Now. Unless you want to explain why we missed a filing deadline because you were checking your fantasy football scores.”
“It might be my wife,” I say. The words feel fragile in the heavy air of the room.
“Is she in the hospital?” Miller asks.
“I… I don’t know.”
“If she’s not bleeding out, it can wait.” Arthur points to the wooden cabinet against the far wall. “Phone. Now.”
Across the table, Tabitha watches me. She gives a small, encouraging nod, as if to say,Just play the game, Ross. It’s almost over.
I look from Miller to the credenza.
The vibration stops.
I missed it.
There’s a physical rip in my chest, like a muscle tearing. I pull the phone out of my pocket. The screen is dark. I walk over to the credenza and set it down, face up.
1 Missed Call: Margot.
I stare at the name. It glows for a second, then fades to black.
