Chapter 1
Samuel
The lobby of Voss the leather handle bit into his palm. He consciously eased his hold, then wiped his fingers against the lining of his jacket where no one could see the faint sheen of sweat.
Nothing about his suit felt right. The shoulders were a little too stiff, the collar a fraction too warm and tight against his neck. He’d spent twenty minutes that morning ironing his shirt until the fabric lay perfectly flat, but wearing it now felt like stepping into someone else’s skin.
He headed toward the monolithic security desk, rehearsing his name in his head even though he knew it was unnecessary. The guard glanced up as Samuel approached.
“Name?” he asked, his tone neutral.
“Samuel Ruiz,” Samuel said, his voice holding steady.
The guard confirmed it on the screen, printed a temporary badge with a quiet whir, and slid it across the polished counter. “Sixteenth floor.”
“Thanks.” Samuel clipped the badge to his lapel, exhaled once, a sharp breath through his nose, and moved toward the bank of elevators.
The elevator doors slid open with a muted chime revealing the empty space, and Samuel stepped inside, grateful for the brief moment of privacy.
His reflection stared back at him from a mirror occupying one of the walls, tie straight, hair in place, posture good enough, but his eyes betrayed the quiet strain he was trying to ignore.
He pressed the button for the sixteenth floor. Then he cleared his throat and tried out the lines he’d practiced on the walk over.
“Good morning, I’m Samuel…”
He stopped. It sounded too formal, too stiff.
He tried again, quieter this time, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Samuel Ruiz, new associate. It’s a pleasure…”
No. That was worse.
He exhaled through his nose and scrubbed his palm over the wool of his thigh, wiping away the sweat gathering there. His body always betrayed him faster than his mind did; a lesson he’d learned years ago and had never quite managed to unlearn.
He adjusted his collar even though it didn’t need adjusting, then straightened the edges of the file folder he carried, as if that simple action could settle the tightness coiling in his chest.
The elevator climbed floor by floor, the numbers above the door blinking. Each one brought a little more pressure, a slight tightening in his gut. By the twelfth, his palms were damp again. By the fourteenth, his heart was thudding too fast for how still he was forcing himself to stand.
He tried a different tactic, lowering his voice to a calm, measured tone.
Simple.
“Good morning. I’m Samuel Ruiz.”
That one at least sounded like him. Or like the version of him he was supposed to be now.
The elevator chimed again.
Sixteenth floor.
He flexed his fingers once, rolled his shoulders back just enough to release the tension, and stepped out into the corridor before he could allow himself to hesitate.
The floor felt different from the lobby; quieter, tighter, like the air itself was holding its breath.
Plush, charcoal-gray carpeting muted all footsteps, and the floor-to-ceiling glass walls along the corridor made every office and conference room visible from the outside.
No one lounged. No one glanced at their phone.
Everyone moved with the same sharp purpose Samuel had seen downstairs, only here it was amplified, refined to a razor's edge.
He kept his pace steady, careful not to look lost as he followed the small, sleek directory signs toward the HR office.
Ahead, two employees stood near a recessed printer alcove, their voices low enough that Samuel shouldn’t have been able to hear them, but the acoustics in the hallway carried sound in strange, clear ways.
“…he tore into Mark in front of the entire floor.”
“Should’ve known better. Wise doesn’t tolerate sloppy work.”
“You think he’s in a mood today?”
“When is he not?”
He forced himself back into motion just as one of the employees looked up.
She gave him a polite but brief smile, and returned to her conversation as if he’d never been there, the moment of acknowledgment already forgotten.
Samuel stopped once he reached the door marked Human Resources. He took a deep, deliberate breath, and then knocked once, firmly, before stepping in.
The space was smaller than he expected. Papers were stacked in clean, precise lines, and a single white orchid on the filing cabinet looked like it had been alive far longer than seemed reasonable. An older woman looked up from her monitor, a headset angled over her severe blonde bob.
“One moment,” she said to him, her voice crisp and clear. “No, send me the updated draft first… yes. Before lunch. Not after.”
She ended the call with a practiced tap and removed the headset, placing it neatly beside her keyboard.
“You must be Samuel Ruiz.”
“Yes,” he said, stepping fully inside and letting the door sigh shut behind him. “Good morning.”
“I’m Lauren,” she said, motioning with her hand toward the single chair positioned across from her minimalist desk. “Head of HR. Go ahead and take a seat.”
He sat, keeping his posture straight, lowering his briefcase next to his legs. Lauren clicked through a series of screens on her dual monitors, her expression unreadable.
“Alright,” she said, her eyes scanning his information. “Welcome to Voss the research rooms, the document suites, the conference pods.
You’ll pick up the rhythm quickly enough. ”
She looked at him over the thin, steel rim of her glasses. “It’s fast here. Faster than whatever you’re used to. No one will say that out loud, but I prefer new hires aren’t completely blindsided by the pace.”
Samuel nodded. His fingers tightened slightly on the edges of his folder. “I understand.”
“Good.” She clicked to the next screen, a dense block of text.
“Your desk is in the west wing, workstation B-14. Second pod on the left past the main corridor. The paralegals there are excellent; you’ll lean on them more than you think.
Don’t try to take on everything alone just to prove you can. People burn out like that.”
“Yes,” he said. “Thank you.”
Lauren slid a slim, sealed packet across the polished surface of the desk.
“This covers building access codes, security restrictions, and document handling guidelines. You’ll need to read the confidentiality policies by the end of the week; preferably tonight.
There’s a digital orientation module as well, but don’t bother with the videos. They’re outdated.”
He opened the packet just enough to confirm his name was printed correctly on the top sheet.
“Now,” Lauren continued, returning her attention to his digital file, “your team assignment.”
Samuel sat a little straighter, the fabric of his suit pulling across his shoulders.
“We place new associates based on department need and partner load. The decision was finalized this morning.” She clicked once more, then paused, her gaze fixed on the screen.
“You’ll be assigned to Senior Partner Gael Wise.”
His breath tightened in his chest before he could stop it. Not visibly, he hoped, but the air in his lungs felt suddenly thinner, his chest cavity smaller.
Lauren, to her credit, didn’t acknowledge the reaction.
Instead, she clicked the screen away and continued in the same steady tone.
“Mr. Wise runs a high-volume, high-stakes docket. Mostly complex corporate litigation, some international arbitration, occasional federal overlap. His team is small by design; he doesn’t delegate unless he trusts someone’s work. That takes time. Don’t take it personally.”
“I won’t,” Samuel said, though his voice came out a little thinner than he intended.
“Good. You’ll be handling initial research, preliminary drafts, deposition summaries, and partner prep. If he gives you deadlines, you meet them. If he gives you instructions, you follow them exactly. No creative interpretations.”
Samuel nodded. “Understood.”
Lauren leaned back slightly in her chair, studying him, not unkindly, but with the measured calm of someone who’d on-boarded hundreds of nervous associates before him.
“You’ll hear things about him,” she said. “Most of them are true. He’s demanding. He’s blunt. He doesn’t waste time on pleasantries.” A brief, deliberate pause. “But he’s fair. If your work is good, he’ll see it. If it isn’t… he’ll see that too, and you’ll know it.”
Samuel tried to steady his breathing, to keep it silent and even. “When will I meet him?”
Lauren checked the time in the corner of her monitor. “Your introductory check-in is scheduled for…” she squinted briefly, “fifteen minutes from now.”
His stomach dropped. “Fifteen?”