The office clock showed 4:07 PM when Beauty finally looked up from the mountain of documents scattered across her temporary desk. Her eyes burned from staring at computer screens and legal contracts for the past seven hours straight. Around her, the steady hum of office activity had shifted to the familiar end-of-day rhythm, keyboards clicking slower, phones ringing less frequently, and the soft sounds of people organizing their desks before heading home.
Her stomach growled loudly, reminding her that she'd skipped lunch entirely. The Peterson merger documents lay spread before her like an accusatory fan, each page a testament to her failure. She'd managed to review maybe a third of the required materials, her notes scattered and incomplete. The Williams account presentation sat untouched
