Fluorescent lights hummed softly above the long glass table, reflecting off polished surfaces and neatly arranged folders. Voices rose and fell in measured tones—numbers, projections, careful arguments about budgets and margins.
The sound echoed through the telephone, heavy, definitive, as if something had crossed a point of no return inside that house that I knew so well. I tried to breathe, but the air seemed to get trapped in my throat, as if even my body hesitated to go on. —Marcus… —I whispered again, barely recognizing…
