BROKEN SILENCE

CHAPTER THREE

I sat down at my desk, pulled up the internal phone directory, and dialed the extension for Ryan Vance’s executive assistant.

The line rang four times before a woman picked up, her voice dripping with bored indifference.

"Acquisitions, line two."

"Good morning, this is Sarah Wills from Mr. Reed’s office," I said, keeping my tone crisp and professional. "Mr. Reed requires a twenty-minute alignment meeting with Mr. Vance today between 1:00 PM and 3:00 PM."

A heavy sigh came through the speaker, followed by the faint sound of popping chewing gum. "Yeah, that’s not going to happen. Mr. Vance is swamped today with quarterly reviews. Try calling back next week."

"This isn't optional," I urged, my grip tightening on the receiver. "Mr. Reed needs the briefing summary on his desk before noon today."

"Look, sweetie, everybody wants piece of Vance's time," she replied nonchalantly, her voice completely dismissive. "He's in meetings all morning. I’m not interrupting him for a last-minute request. Have a nice day."

Click.

The line went dead.

I stared at the phone in disbelief, the harsh dial tone buzzing in my ear like a swarm of bees. I slammed the receiver back onto its base, my pulse beginning to quicken.

No. Try again.

I dialed back immediately. It went straight to voicemail. I redialed a second time, then a third, waiting as the line rang uselessly into the void. She was ignoring me. I quickly opened my email software, furiously typing out a high-priority flag request directly to Vance’s calendar invite system, requesting an immediate confirmation.

Thirty seconds later, an automated notification popped up in the corner of my screen: Meeting Request Declined by Host.

Panic began to coil tightly in the pit of my stomach. I checked the bottom right corner of my desktop screen. 11:15 AM.

Forty five minutes.

My heart did a violent, sickening flip against my ribs. No. No, no, no. I can’t fail my first assignment, I couldn't afford to lose this lifeline.

I stood up so fast my office chair rolled backward into the glass wall. I hurried down the quiet corridor to the front reception desk.

“Dani," I breathed out, trying to keep my voice from shaking. "I'm sorry to bother you, but... Mr. Vance's assistant just refused to schedule the meeting for Mr. Reed. She hung up on me, and I have less than forty-five minutes before my deadline."

Dani stopped typing, giving me a sympathetic look. "Oh, sweetie, Vance’s secretary does that to everyone. She guards him like a dragon. Calling or emailing her is like a complete dead end, it won't work."

"Then what am I supposed to do?" I asked, my breathing shallow.

"If it’s an absolute emergency for Mr. Reed, you have to go down there in person," Dani advised, pointing toward the executive elevator bank. "Floor 13. That’s where the entire Acquisitions and Trading department operates. Just walk onto the floor and go straight to Vance’s office."

My blood ran cold.

Floor 13. The trading floor.

Loud, crowded, bustling places full of shouting, packed people, and suffocating noise. My ultimate nightmare. My body instantly remembered the feeling of being trapped, surrounded, small, and unable to draw air into my lungs.

I looked back at Mr. Reed's closed office door, then down at my watch. 11:18 AM.

"Floor 13," I repeated, swallowing hard.

"Yeah. Good luck down there," Dani said with a gentle nod before returning to her screen.

I didn't hesitate anymore. The overwhelming fear of failing Mr. Reed outweighed everything else. I marched over to the elevators, pressed the down button, and stepped inside as soon as the doors slid open. I hit the button for Floor 13, leaning my head back against the cool steel wall as the lift descended.

Just walk in, get the signature, and leave, I told myself. You can do this. You have to do this.

Ding.

The elevator doors chimed and parted, and the world immediately exploded into noise.

The elevator doors chimed and parted, and the world immediately exploded into noise.

Floor 30 was a massive, open-concept trading and acquisitions pit—a chaotic nightmare of glass walls, shouting voices, and crammed desks under harsh, humming fluorescent lights. Dozens of people surged in every direction, arguing over desk phones, waving files, and rushing through narrow aisles. The air felt thick, hot, and instantly suffocating.

I stepped off the elevator, and the noise hit me like a physical blow.

Voices overlapped from every side. Telephones rang relentlessly. People brushed past me, their shoulders nearly knocking into mine as they rushed by.

Then my feet hit the center of the walkway, and my body completely betrayed me.

I froze.

My knees locked, my hands paralyzed at my sides. The crowded room seemed to contract in an instant—the ceiling dropping, the glass walls pressing inward, trapping me in a swarm of moving bodies.

My lungs seized. I tried to pull in air, but nothing came.

Breathe, my mind screamed. Sarah, breathe!

Nothing. My chest felt locked in an iron vise that was slowly tightening. The room began to spin, the shouting voices blurring into a deafening roar in my ears.

My vision began to blur at the edges. I clutched at my shirt collar, my heart hammering like a trapped bird against my ribs as I stood completely paralyzed in the middle of the floor.

This job was supposed to be my escape, but right now, my own panic was tearing it apart.

Suddenly, a firm hand tapped my shoulder.

"Hey! Are you alright? You're blocking the walkway."

The touch broke the paralysis like a shock wave. My eyes snapped open, a sharp gasp of air finally tearing through my tight throat, before my brain could process who it was.

In a flash of self-defense, my hand shot up and grabbed his wrist in a vice-like grip, my fingernails digging into his skin so hard I nearly bruised him, twisting his hand away from my shoulder as if fighting off an attacker.

"Woah, woah! Easy!" the guy gasped, wincing in surprise and trying to pull back from my sudden, aggressive grip.

My eyes snapped open, a sharp, ragged breath finally tearing through my lungs. I blinked through the haze, staring down at my knuckles white against his arm. I looked up to see a tall analyst wearing an ID badge that read Nick, staring at me in shock and confusion.

Realizing what I was doing, I let go of Nick's hand as if I’d been burned, stumbling half a step backward, my pulse hammering in my ears.

"I—I'm sorry," I managed to choke out, my voice raspy and trembling.

Nick rubbed his wrist, looking at me with a mix of bewilderment and concern. "Jesus, you've got a grip. Are you okay? You looked like you couldn't breathe."

"I'm fine," I lied, forcing my body to stand upright despite the residual shaking in my legs.

Through the lingering blur in my vision, I looked past Nick's shoulder toward the far side of the floor. A glass door swung open, and Ryan Vance himself stepped out into the hallway, checking his watch—the hands pointing directly at 11:28 AM.

Thirty-two minutes left.

I took one more shallow, ragged breath, adjusted my folder, and pushed past Nick.