The energy inside Wolfe enterprise headquarters had shifted.
Two days until the gala, and the building practically throbbed with it — a restless hum that lived in every corridor, every desk, every clipped exchange. Phones rang in urgent bursts, printers spat out page after page, and heels and dress shoes ricocheted off the marble floors. Even the air seemed charged, as if the building itself was bracing for impact.
Assistants darted between departments with armfuls of guest lists and last-minute change orders. Interns threaded carefully through the chaos, trays of coffee balanced in trembling hands, sidestepping delivery crews wheeling in crates stamped fragile. The scent of hundreds of fresh floral centerpieces drifted in from the adjacent events room.
Clara stood at her desk, flippin
