Chapter 6: First Morning at the Glass Tower
The lobby of Reed Enterprises smelled of fresh linen, polished brass, and expensive espresso. I stood by the security turnstiles in a charcoal skirt suit I had bought the afternoon before, my gray maid's uniform folded neatly inside a brown paper bag in my bottom desk drawer. My new desk sat on the fourteenth floor, wedged between the community outreach archives and a panoramic window overlooking the concrete expanse of downtown. Marcus, Julian’s executive assistant, dropped a thick stack of neighborhood grant applications on my blotter with a heavy thud that made the paperclips rattle.
"Julian’s in meetings until noon," Marcus said, not unkindly, tapping the edge of the top folder with a manicured finger. "Don't let the glass intimidate you, Clara. Most of these proposals come from the same East Side districts you grew up in. He wants real boots-on-the-ground assessment, not corporate platitudes. That's why he pulled your file from human resources personally."
I opened the top folder. The applicant was a neighborhood youth center three blocks from my old apartment, struggling to keep its roof from leaking through the winter rains. I traced my thumb over the frayed letterhead, realizing with a sudden jolt that I now held the pen that could sign off on their funding. Julian had not given me make-work; he had handed me an operating budget and a mandate to fix what the city ignored.
At ten o'clock, Julian walked through the open-plan office. He wore a dark tailored suit, but his white shirt collar was open at the throat, revealing the edge of the dark ink creeping up his neck. He paused by my desk, his gaze sweeping over the stacks of paperwork.
"Finding your footing?" he asked, his voice low enough to keep from drawing the eyes of the other analysts.
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"I'm finding that three years of cleaning hotel suites taught me how to spot structural rot," I replied, looking up from a budget spreadsheet. "This youth center downtown? Their ledger is clean, but their roof is gone. If I approve the emergency grant today, the kids will have a dry place by Friday."
Julian nodded slowly, a faint trace of approval softening the sharp angles of his jaw. "Approve it. Use the special executive reserve if the standard line items are too slow. That's what you're here for, Clara."
