Monday morning at Moonlit Tech felt less like a workplace and more like the morning after a bomb had gone off. The air was thick with whispers. Every time a phone rang, three people jumped.
Natalie was conspicuously absent. Her desk in the VP’s anteroom was empty, save for a stapler and a lingering scent of desperation. Rumor had it she had called in with a "migraine," which was corporate code for "I was publicly humiliated by a billionaire and I’m currently hiding under my duvet."
David Salinger, however, had shown up. He had no choice. He had a salary freeze and a mountain of debt.
He approached Louise’s desk at 10:00 AM, looking like a man walking to the gallows. His suit was unpressed. The dark circles under his eyes were bruises of stress.
"Louise," he rasped. "Can we talk? Please
