The fortieth floor felt different this time—not simply quiet, but sealed. When Lena stepped out of the elevator, she sensed it immediately: the muted echo of her footsteps, the controlled temperature, the faint hum of the ventilation system moving air through a space meant to contain things rather than expose them.

Room 412 was at the far end of the corridor, a place she had never been directed to before. The door was closed, the frosted glass muted into a soft blur that hid everything inside. She lifted her hand to knock.

“Come in,” Silas said from the other side.

He wasn’t standing. He sat at the table with a laptop open, sleeves rolled, posture precise in a way that suggested he had been waiting long enough to settle into the weight of whatever he was about to tell her.

“Close the door,” he said quietly.

She did.

Silas gestured to the chair across from him. “Sit.”

She sat, steadying her breath.

“There’s a document you need to see,” he said.

He turned the laptop toward her. A file had already been opened—Internal Memo, 2015—Unauthorized Inquiry. Most of the text was redacted, thick black bars wiping out entire columns. He tapped the scroll key lightly.

“Look at page three.”

She did.

At first, the page appeared as empty as the others—black covering nearly everything. Then one unredacted line came into view:

Unnamed Visitor – met with L. Carrow offsite, March 2015  

(Internal cross-reference declined)

Lena’s fingers tightened against her leg.

“Someone met with my father,” she said.

“Yes.”

“And they refused to identify the person internally.”

“Yes.”

She exhaled slowly through her nose. “That’s not standard procedure.”

“No,” Silas said. “It isn’t.”

She dragged her eyes over the next line—another redaction, another withheld thread—but beneath the blackout she sensed the shape of something larger. Something carefully removed.

“Do you know who it was?” she asked.

Silas didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he leaned back slightly, the motion measured.

“I know the list of people it could have been,” he said. “But nothing in the official record confirms it.”

Lena searched his expression. “And unofficially?”

Silas held her gaze. “Unofficially is where caution matters most.”

Her pulse caught.

He wasn’t protecting the firm.  

He was protecting her.

Silas turned the laptop back toward himself and closed the screen. “Your father was asking questions that intersected with a project on this floor. A project tied to accounts frozen in 2016.”

“The ones J.D. is circling now?” she asked.

Silas’s jaw tightened. “Yes.”

She let that settle. “So J.D. isn’t just watching me.”

“He’s watching everything adjacent to you,” Silas said. “And he’s doing it with someone else’s authorization.”

The room thickened around those words.

“Whose?” she asked.

Silas’s silence said enough.

Someone above him.  

Someone with reach.

Lena steadied her breath. “And you?”

“What about me?”

“You’re involved whether you choose to be or not.”

Silas’s expression didn’t shift, but something in the atmosphere did—like the faint drop in temperature before a pressure system changes.

“I am involved,” he said. “Because I was there in 2015.”

Her breath caught. “You were part of the investigation?”

“No.” His reply was sharp but controlled. “I was part of what came after.”

The distinction landed hard.

He continued, voice level. “Your father’s inquiry triggered a secondary review. I was asked to evaluate several accounts for irregularities.”

“And did you find any?”

Silas didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

“Were they connected to him?”

His eyes dropped to the table for the briefest moment—an omission more revealing than any crafted answer.

“That’s the part you’re not ready for,” he said.

Lena felt the tension climb through her shoulders. “But I need context.”

“And you will get it,” Silas said, “once I’m certain you won’t be targeted for having it.”

Something inside her stomach tightened, not out of fear but clarity.

“Targeted by whom?” she asked.

Silas’s answer was quiet. “The same people who redacted every name in that file.”

A subtle tremor traced the air between them, invisible but precise.

Before she could speak, his phone buzzed. He checked the screen—one glance, fast, controlled—and then slid it face-down.

“Compliance is making a move,” he said. “Someone flagged your workstation.”

Her chest tightened. “For what?”

“For accessing materials you haven’t sent,” Silas said. “Which means J.D. is tightening the loop.”

She absorbed that in silence.

“You’ll return to your desk,” Silas said. “You’ll act as if you saw nothing beyond what was assigned. And you will not engage J.D. unless necessary.”

Lena nodded. “And if he pushes?”

“Then you defer up,” Silas said. “To Lauren. To me. To anyone above his clearance.”

She exhaled slowly. “You’re maneuvering around him.”

“I’m mitigating risk,” he corrected.

“For me,” she said.

Silas didn’t deny it.

He stood, signaling the end of the conversation. She rose as well.

At the door, he paused.

“Lena.”

She looked at him.

“There’s a line you’re about to cross,” he said. “Not because you want to, but because the people above you decided you already have.”

Her breath tightened.

“When you go back downstairs,” Silas continued, “be precise. Be ordinary. Be boring.”

She almost laughed—almost—but the moment held too much gravity.

“I’ll be careful,” she said.

“Good,” he replied. “Because they’re watching for anything that looks like movement.”

He opened the door for her.

She stepped into the hallway, pulse steady but sharpened, like the edge of something waiting.

As she walked toward the elevator, she didn’t look back.

She didn’t have to.

Whatever path she’d been walking was no longer a single direction.  

It had split beneath her feet—quietly, irrevocably—and now she was being pushed down one side faster than she could catch her breath.

The elevator doors opened.

And she stepped inside.