The office had transformed into something fragile and tense, like a glass sculpture waiting to shatter. Every footstep on the polished floors echoed too loudly; every ring of a phone made hearts skip. Nicholas Wolfe had been on edge all week. Two secretaries—each carefully selected for precision and professionalism—had lasted less than a week before their mistakes triggered his fury and ended with the swift, silent authority of a man used to having total control.
Clara had arrived Monday morning, already wary. By Wednesday, whispers had begun to circle around the floors like smoke. Staff passed each other in the hallways, heads bent, voices just above a whisper, exchanging speculative looks.
“He’s impossible,” one junior assistant muttered, pushing a stack of invoices across her desk.
“
