My name is Mason Bradley, I am twenty seven years old, and for the past three years I have worked at Silverman and Cole Consulting in downtown Boston, inside one of those polished glass towers where everyone walks fast and talks like every sentence could change the market.
I am not the loudest person in any room, and I have never been the one telling jokes at company happy hours, because I prefer to sit near the corner, take notes, and make sure the details are flawless so that other people can shine without noticing who kept everything from falling apart.
Outside the office, my life has always been simple and predictable, because I rent a small apartment in Somerville with thin walls and a view of a brick alley, and on weekends I either meet a few college friends for coffee or take the commuter rail to Providence to see my mother, who constantly asks when I will get promoted or finally bring someone home.
Three days before everything changed, I was sitting in a conference room holding a cup of burnt coffee while reviewing projections for the Hawthorne Logistics expansion, which was a major deal involving a manufacturing group based in Minneapolis.