The executive floor was a different world after six.
The frantic hum of printers, the clicking of heels, and the low-frequency chatter of a hundred employees had bled away, replaced by a silence so profound it made every tick of the wall clock sound like a hammer blow.
Outside, the New York skyline was shifting into the blue hour, the transition between a bruised sunset and the cold, electric glow of the city at night.
I had barely seen him all day.
Between the impromptu board meeting and the mountain of logistics Julian had dumped on my desk 'to prepare for the CEO's absence', the day had been a blurred marathon of spreadsheets and conference calls.
William had been sequestered in his office or in back-to-back meetings in the legal wing. Every time we crossed paths, it was a quick exchange of files or a professional nod, but the air between us was heavy with the weight of the morning's news.
Three weeks.
It felt like a sentence.
