Sadie stared him down. It was the exact same stare she used on drunk patrons at the diner who refused to pay their tab: completely void of professional courtesy, entirely rooted in a willingness to escalate. Caldwell dropped the folder on her desk and walked away, his polished shoes clicking sharply in retreat.
Inside the office, Beatrice watched these interactions through the glass partitions with a look of deep, profound satisfaction.
But the friction wore Sadie down. The money was real: her first paycheck hit her bank account, and she stared at the screen of her cracked phone until her eyes watered. She paid her rent three months in advance; she bought groceries that didn't come out of a dented can. Yet, she felt constantly on edge.
At the diner, the threats were simple: a burnt hand, a short paycheck, a rude customer. Here, the violence was invisible—hidden in legal jargon, passive-aggressive emails, and the way Richard looked at her when they passed in the hallway, like she was a pest infestation he was waiting for the exterminator to clear.
One evening in late January, the city outside the penthouse window was being battered by a sleet storm. The office was empty save for Sadie and Beatrice. Beatrice was at her desk, staring at a tablet. She looked exceptionally frail today; the tailored suit seemed to swallow her. The stark white lighting of the office emphasized the deep purple bruising under her thin skin, a byproduct of the blood thinners she hated taking.
Sadie was on the leather sofa aggressively organizing physical files. She hated the digital system: paper made sense; paper you could hold.
"You're grinding your teeth, Sadie," Beatrice murmured without looking up.
"Sorry," Sadie muttered, forcing her jaw to relax.
"You hate it here."
Sadie paused, a file folder hovering in her hand. She looked at the old woman. She could lie—she was getting paid enough to lie—but that wasn't their arrangement.
"It's quiet," Sadie said finally. "Too quiet. It feels like everyone is holding their breath, waiting for someone else to make a mistake."
"They are," Beatrice agreed, finally setting the tablet down. She rubbed her temples. "That is the nature of a kingdom. Everyone is waiting for the monarch to die."
Sadie frowned, hating the morbid certainty in Beatrice's voice. "You're not dying anytime soon. You chewed out the VP of logistics for twenty minutes this morning without taking a breath."