Guilt was a physical weight, pressing down on Alex's chest as he stood before the imposing glass monolith of Thorne Tower. The reflected sky made the building look like it stretched into infinity, a fortress of wealth and power utterly alien to the cracked sidewalks of the East End. Marco's words – *We fight* – echoed in his mind, but they felt hollow now, drowned out by the roar of downtown traffic and the sheer, crushing scale of Ethan Thorne's world.
Ms. Flores's tear-streaked face, Sofia's quiet despair, the whispered blame from other volunteers… they were the lash driving him forward on this insane mission. He had to try. He had to appeal to Thorne directly. Explain it was an accident. Take the blame solely on himself. Grovel if necessary. Anything to salvage the donation for the center.
Security eyed him suspiciously the moment he stepped into the cavernous, marble-lined lobby. His cleanest jeans and t-shirt screamed 'out of place'. He approached the vast reception desk manned by three impeccably groomed individuals.
"Can I help you?" The nearest receptionist, a woman with a smile as polished as the marble, asked, her gaze sweeping over him with polite dismissal.
"I… I need to speak with Mr. Ethan Thorne," Alex said, forcing his voice steady. "It's urgent. Regarding the East End Community Center donation."
The receptionist's smile didn't waver. "Do you have an appointment?"
"No. But it's really important. He was there yesterday, there was an accident with my sister—"
"Mr. Thorne's schedule is booked months in advance," the receptionist interrupted smoothly. "I can take your name and contact information, and someone from Community Outreach might get back to you."
"No, you don't understand," Alex insisted, desperation creeping in. "I need to speak to *him*. Just for five minutes. Please. My name is Alex Moretti. He… he knows who I am."
The name registered. The receptionist's eyes flickered with a hint of recognition, then hardened slightly. She exchanged a glance with her colleague. "Mr. Moretti," she said, her tone cooler now. "Mr. Thorne is unavailable. Indefinitely. To you. Security has been informed."
As if summoned, a large man in a dark suit materialized beside Alex. "Sir, you need to leave."
"Please, just tell him I'm here!" Alex pleaded, ignoring the security guard. "Tell him I want to apologize! About the suits! Both of them! Just give me five minutes to explain about the center!"
The receptionist's smile vanished. "Mr. Moretti, your presence is causing a disturbance. You need to leave the premises immediately, or security will escort you out."
The guard placed a firm hand on Alex's arm. "Let's go, sir. Now."
Humiliation burned hotter than anger. He was being treated like a trespasser, a beggar. The sheer impossibility of reaching Ethan Thorne, of even getting a message through the layers of privilege and protection, slammed into him. Marco's belief in fighting felt like a child's fantasy. How could you fight a mountain?
He allowed himself to be steered towards the revolving doors, the receptionist's icy stare and the guard's impersonal grip branding him. As he stumbled out onto the sidewalk, the automatic doors hissed shut behind him, sealing him out of Ethan Thorne's world as effectively as a vault door.
He leaned against the cool glass, breathing hard, the city's indifference a tangible force. He'd failed. Utterly. Spectacularly. The center wouldn't get its roof. Sofia's hopeful painting had become a symbol of their ruin. And he was powerless. Truly, utterly powerless.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. A text from Marco:
> **Marco:** Where are you? Site's wrapping up. Lunch?
Alex stared at the message, the simple concern a stark contrast to the cold rejection he'd just faced. He couldn't tell Marco about this. About this final, crushing humiliation. He typed back, fingers clumsy:
> **Alex:** Downtown. Errand ran long. Skip lunch. See you at home later.
He shoved the phone back in his pocket, pushing off the glass. He had a construction shift this afternoon. More hauling, more dust. The mindless physical labor suddenly seemed like a refuge. A place where effort yielded tangible results, unlike the futile, soul-crushing exercise of trying to reason with a glacier.
**(End of Chapter 11)**