11
JULIA
The corner office, with all its flex; the glass walls through which continued her domain, its surface flecked with chairs and computer displays. The workers hunched at their terminals, pretending not to watch her but of course doing so. It was what Julia had done for years: watching, waiting, noting, adjusting. Shedding time, until an opportunity arose, and it was only because she had won a sort of karmic lottery, in a country where karma seemed to f**k so many others, that she was here.
It was good to be back at work.
She had almost waited too long. She’d been a fool to think daily calls to Pierre would be enough – that it’d be sufficient for her to ‘check in’ from bed, and that her throne would be kept empty for her return. In Julia’s absence a nest of vipers had sprung up,
