POV- Catriona
I arrive at eight.
Not 8:02. Not 7:59.
Eight.
If Shawn Reid is going to test me, he will not find fault in discipline.
The executive floor is quieter than usual — early sunlight cutting across glass and marble, turning everything cold and precise. Power looks different in the morning. Less theatrical. More dangerous.
His assistant doesn’t look surprised to see me.
“He’s expecting you.”
Of course he is.
The office door is already open.
He stands near the window, jacket off, sleeves rolled once — not casual, just strategic. The skyline behind him looks like territory he owns.
“You’re punctual,” he says without turning.
“You said eight.”
“I did.”
He finally faces me.
No small talk.
No pleasantries.
Just assessment.
“Sit.”
I don’t hesitate.
A folder rests on t
