CHAPTER 5 （SARAH） #2
Twilight arrives, and the office empties.
I stay behind. Michael does too. We’re cross-referencing Redwood’s cost breakdown, trying to build a shield of unimpeachable data.
My eyes blur with exhaustion. We keep pausing to scribble updates, rewriting projections, layering each cost variable with bulletproof logic.
At some point, the heat in the room changes.
We’re so close—our elbows nearly brushing, the tension of the day compressing us into this small bubble of lamplight.
My lungs strain as a wave of warmth pulses through me.
His tie is loose, collar undone, hair slightly mussed.
There’s a raw edge in his voice when he thanks me for spotting certain irregularities.
I give a slight nod. Heartbeats pound in the hush.
Then we refocus on Redwood. Always Redwood. Always the next crisis.
Eventually, he stands, shoulders rigid. Says I should head out.
I notice that flicker in his gaze, like he wants to say something else.
Then it’s gone, replaced by the cool, controlled manner he wears in public.
We pack up. Step into the corridor, lights dim, shadows thick.
My pulse hammers at the memory of his nearness.
Stop it. This is dangerous. We don’t speak as we part ways.
The elevator chimes. Doors close. I slump against the wall, adrenaline draining, limbs shaky.
Just one day at a time. I exit the building, bracing against the cold night air.
Taxis line the curb, headlights carving the darkness.
Tomorrow, the sabotage continues. Tomorrow, Redwood still needs saving.
Morning. My phone alarm shrills. My bones ache.
I glance at my bank balance, biting my lip.
Bills. My mother’s medical expenses. Each beep on my phone a reminder that her condition worsens.
No choice. Stay afloat or lose everything.
I throw on clothes, inhale a stale protein bar, dash to catch a train.
The entire ride, I scan Redwood files on my phone, searching for any clue we missed.
The city blurs past the windows. My stomach squirms with dread that more chaos waits. No running from it.
At Chen Technologies, the security guard waves me through with a sympathetic nod.
Rumors must be thick. I hurry to my desk.
A new stack of Redwood requests sits there, courtesy of Michael.
His scrawled note instructs me to finalize cost updates by noon.
My heart jolts. That’s impossible in normal conditions.
But Redwood’s not normal. I dive in, hands trembling at the keyboard.
People pass my station, hush around me. They don’t trust me. That knowledge burns. I block it out.
An hour later, Ms. Patel from HR taps my shoulder.
She asks me to step into her office. My stomach lurches.
We sit in a small room with tinted glass.
She quietly reminds me of the fraternization rules, her tone implying that rumors swirl about me and Michael.
My face flames. She mentions we must keep Redwood free from scandal, that any perceived involvement outside of strict business can fuel negative press.
My breath hitches. I can’t defend myself without sounding guilty.
My entire body clenches. I nod stiffly, promising there’s no unprofessional conduct.
She seems unconvinced. My head throbs as I walk out.
Minutes later, I see Damien speaking to a cluster of employees, all eyes flicking my way when he lowers his voice.
I bristle. A hot wave of anger surges through my veins.
He’s painting me as incompetent or worse.
My nails bite my palm. Then I catch Michael glaring from across the room.
He stalks forward, intercepts Damien with a firm word about Redwood’s integrity.
Their voices cut the hush. A small group gathers.
Tension spikes. Damien smirks again, tells Michael to control “the new hire,” that Redwood might flounder under her inexperience.
I stand there, blood pounding in my ears.
Michael’s fist clenches. For a second, I think he might lash out physically.
My pulse leaps. Then he exhales, shoulders dropping, stepping back like a soldier retreating from a lost skirmish.
Damien basks in the quiet audience, then strolls away. Everyone scatters.
I duck into a side office, tears burning my eyelids.
How long can I do this? How many attacks can Redwood sustain?
My phone buzzes with an updated hospital statement.
My breath hitches. I’m cornered. If Redwood fails, I lose my financial anchor.
If Redwood succeeds, I become Damien’s target.
My head spins with frustration. The smell of stale coffee from the corner hamper turns my stomach.
I press a hand to my chest, lungs tight. Push forward or get trampled.
That night, I stay again, verifying Redwood’s financial logs for the next investor pitch.
Michael joins me in silence. We feed numbers into spreadsheets, triple-check each formula.
My eyes burn. My back hurts. No rest until Redwood stands on firm ground.
Michael finally breaks the hush by asking about my mother’s condition.
The concern in his voice unravels me. I swallow a sob.
Summarize her situation. My chest twists with gratitude that he asked.
He nods, tension in his jaw. He says Redwood must hold steady, for both of us.
My throat constricts. We’re more alike than I realized.
The closeness is suffocating. I can’t let personal feelings leak in.
Redwood’s future is precarious, and people already whisper about us.
We finish near midnight. The city pulses with neon outside the windows.
I notice a suspicious figure loitering near the front lobby.
A jolt of fear. Michael sees my alarm, glances down.
We slip out a different exit. The air tastes bitter, or maybe that’s just my anxiety.
My thoughts swirl with the possibility Damien has hired someone to follow me, to gather blackmail or spin new lies.
Michael and I share a glance. We say nothing.
But the tension between us crackles in the quiet.
I clench my fists in my coat pockets. Am I paranoid, or is this truly happening?
Another day. Another barrage of Redwood crises.
More calls from investors who want reassurance.
More sideways looks from coworkers. More texts from unknown senders, urging me to resign.
By lunch, my stomach is too knotted to eat.
I swallow water like it’s the only thing keeping me upright.
People hurry past. Michael’s door is shut, the blinds drawn.
I overhear rumors that the board might hold a special meeting to discuss Redwood’s “reputational risk.” My pulse races.
They might kill Redwood to avoid further scandal. The notion crushes me.
By late afternoon, I gather nerve to check on Michael.
I knock lightly. He says nothing, so I crack the door.
He’s on the phone, voice low, face ashen.
Then he hangs up, rubs his temples. For a second, I see raw exhaustion in his eyes.
He beckons me in. I stand by the desk, heart pounding.
He says Redwood might lose a key investor if we can’t guarantee this sabotage is under control.
My throat tightens. We’re cornered. We glance at each other, silent.
The air vibrates with unspoken desperation.
Then he snaps back into work mode, jots instructions for me to gather new cost analyses.
He meets my gaze, no softness left. I nod and leave.
That evening, we comb through Redwood’s budget again.
Emails fly in complaining about “financial inconsistencies.” He curses under his breath.
My hands tremble as I type. One error and Redwood might collapse.
We’re so consumed we hardly notice time passing.
An ache grows between my shoulders. Finally, we pinpoint oddities that might prove sabotage.
My pulse jumps. We have partial evidence that Redwood’s numbers were altered from an external source.
Could be Damien or someone on his payroll.
This is the breakthrough we need. But it’s incomplete.
Michael calls the IT department, demands a deeper forensic audit.
They say it might take days. We don’t have days.
My eyes lock on his. Helpless fury clenches my gut.
Midnight again. I rub bleary eyes. The entire office is dark except for our corner.
Michael stands from his chair, paces. He says we can’t let Damien run the narrative anymore, that Redwood must remain strong.
He stops in front of me, eyes locked on mine.
My ribs tighten at his intensity. His voice is low, almost shaky.
I sense guilt there—he dragged me into Redwood’s orbit, or so he believes.
Then he steps back, shutting himself off.
My throat aches with unspoken words. We gather our things, slip out.
The street is nearly empty. A single taxi passes.
The hush is eerie. Feels like the calm before a storm.
Michael glances around, tension in every line of his body.
I wave goodbye, not trusting my voice. He nods, steps away.
I walk to the subway, heart in my throat, scanning for any sign of a tail.