Walter opened his mouth to protest, then closed it. He nodded once, with the quiet loyalty of a man who had seen her survive storms far worse than dust mops and gossip.
At five forty five in the morning, Marilyn entered the headquarters through the service entrance. The security guard barely glanced at her face as he wrote down the name on the clipboard.
Maggie Collins. Cleaning staff. Short term contract.
The elevator carried her to the basement, where the scent of detergent mixed with fatigue. There she met Ruth Palmer, a woman with cracked hands and eyes dulled by years of being unseen.
“First time here?” Ruth asked, adjusting her gloves.
Marilyn nodded.
“Watch yourself on the fourteenth floor,” Ruth whispered. “That is where Kendra Shaw and Melissa Hartman work. They enjoy reminding people who they think matters.”
Marilyn felt a slow tightening in her chest. From her glass office on the top floor, she had signed reports and approved budgets, yet she had never heard the voices that lived beneath those numbers.