nd out?" echoed relentlessly, battling with the chilling image of Julian Blackwood's calculated dismantling of my

ckwood involved? What am I thinking? But then, the alternative: this cramped room, the constant financial anxiety, the feeling of being stuck, forever shelving other people's stories inst

r's information from the letter – Abernathy, Sterling, and Finch. Just one call. Inform

. It rang twice, three times, each ring stre

ay I direct your call?" The voice was

es. I... I received a letter yesterday? Regarding the estate of the late Charles Whitmore. It advised contac

lick of keyboard keys in the background. "Yes, Ms. Hayes. A mom

a speaking." The new voice was just as

g, the words feeling slightly less foreign the second time around. "I rece

call. Mr. Abernathy is handling the sensitive aspects of the estate perso

phone tighter. "Where? And... what particulars, exactly?"

no wiggle room. "A formal notification with the specific date, time, and required attendees is being prepared

out skipping it.' "Whitmore Tower," I repeated numbly. The glittering, impos

We look forward to meeting

a summon. A summon to Whitmore Tower. So much for 'just finding out'. I'd taken a st

didn't push, occasionally offering a quiet, "You hanging in there?" to which I could only manage a weak nod. My internal monologue was a frantic loop: What will they ask me? What do th

just as I was trudging up the stairs after my shift, exhausted and dreading another night of anxious thou

into my throat.

elope made of thick, expensive-feeling paper. It bore the retur

enge I wasn't sure I could win. Back in the privacy of my apartment, I tossed my keys and bag

e first letter. This one bore the official Whitmore Industries logo at the top – the stylized 'W' in

ef, formal, and

eanor

d the future direction of Whitmore Industries, your presence is hereby f

1 Whitmore Plaza, Execut

day, March

0:00 AM

Further details regarding the purpose o

cer

eral Counsel, Whi

ith Abernathy, St

executives. This wasn't just a quiet chat with a lawyer. This was... official. Corporate. High-stakes. The

interrogation? An offer? A dismissal? Two days to find something appropriate to wear that didn't involve fa

ed back, looking utterly out of her depth. Okay, Eleanor, I told my reflection, my voice a shaky whisper

ife, and a flicker of the resolve I'd felt earlier returned, mingling with the fea