By the time I reached the office, the sky was still a pale gray, the kind that makes the city look half-asleep. The building was quieter than usual — the kind of quiet that amplifies every sound. My heels echoed down the hallway as I stepped out of the elevator, clutching my coffee like armor.
Seven on the dot.
Most of the floor lights were still off, but Lucas's office was already glowing. Figures. The man probably never slept.
I hesitated near my desk, setting my bag down as softly as possible. The last thing I wanted was to draw his attention this early. From behind the frosted glass, I could see his silhouette — straight posture, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a phone. His voice was low, calm, but it carried.
"…No, Daniel, that's not what I asked for," he said, the tone clipped, all precision. "I want the full report by tonight. If the board gets wind of this before I do, it's going to be a problem."
A pause. Then:
"Yes. Mr. Callahan's death changes everything."
I froze mid-step.
Callahan.
The name dropped into my head like a stone. I'd heard it before — not long ago, not in this building. It was back in that alleyway. That night. The conversation I wasn't supposed to overhear.
My pulse quickened.
Lucas turned slightly, facing the window, his voice lowering again. I couldn't make out the rest, just fragments — "containment," "press leak". Each word felt heavier than the last.
He ended the call with a sharp "Keep me updated," then stood still for a moment, the kind of stillness that made the air feel too tight. When he finally moved, it was to straighten his cufflinks, his expression unreadable as he walked back to his desk.
I quickly sat down, pretending to be busy arranging files before he could notice me watching. My hands didn't feel steady.
Mr. Callahan.
I opened my laptop and tried to focus on the spreadsheet in front of me, but the name kept flashing behind my eyes. Why did it sound so familiar? I'd only heard snippets that night — a man's voice, Lucas's voice, and the sound of a car door closing. But I remembered it clearly:
"…Callahan won't stay quiet forever."
At the time, I hadn't known who that was or what it meant. Now, after hearing Lucas mention it again, the coincidence felt too sharp to ignore.
A little after eight, Dana came in, talking on her phone and balancing a folder under her arm. She waved at me, all business, and disappeared into Lucas's office. Their voices murmured through the glass, but I didn't try to listen this time. Not openly, at least.
Instead, I searched.
I opened a browser tab and typed: Mr. Callahan death news.
It took only a few seconds for the headline to appear.
"Tech CEO Raymond Callahan Dies in Car Crash — Police Rule Accident."
I clicked it before I could think twice. The article was short, clinical — the kind that said a lot without saying anything at all. Callahan had been the CEO of a tech development company called Orion Dynamics. He'd died three days ago when his car reportedly "lost control" on a bridge outside the city. No foul play suspected. Funeral arrangements pending.
But another headline, smaller, caught my attention below:
"Insider Sources Suggest Corporate Dispute Days Before CEO's Death."
The page wouldn't load properly. It kept refreshing, and when it finally opened, the article had been removed.
My stomach tightened.
Why would Lucas be talking about Callahan? And why did it sound like… he'd known something before it even made the news?
I minimized the window just as Dana stepped out of his office, handing me a file.
"Mr. Vale wants these processed before noon," she said. "He's in a mood today, so… don't make it worse."
"Got it," I said, keeping my tone even.
She gave me a knowing look — the kind that said you're still new here; tread carefully — then walked off toward the elevators.
I stared at the closed door of Lucas's office for a few seconds before forcing myself back to work. The logical part of me whispered that I was overthinking, that it was none of my business. But another part — the one that had heard the tone in his voice, the same calm edge as that night — wouldn't let it go.
When lunch came, I stayed at my desk. My screen still showed the open search results, and my finger hovered over the mouse.
I told myself I wasn't snooping, just… clarifying. Making sense of things.
But the truth was, curiosity had already dug its hooks in deep.
Maybe it was nothing. Maybe Lucas was just being careful, the way powerful men in suits always were when money or reputation was involved.
Or maybe — just maybe — that night in the alley hadn't been random at all.
Outside, a cloud passed across the morning light, dimming the office for a heartbeat. I looked up from my screen and caught my reflection faintly mirrored in the glass wall of Lucas's office — my own expression pale, uncertain.
Then, behind that reflection, movement.
Lucas, watching me.
Only for a second.
Then he turned away, as if nothing had happened.