Holly has claimed a high-top table near the edge of the lounge and turned it into a barricade of paperwork.
A stack of forms, a tablet, and a company-branded pen sit in front of her like armor.
She’s staring at the balcony where Gordon died, jaw tight, eyes glassy but dry.
“You picked a good night to visit Nakatomi,” she says without looking at you. “Holiday party, surprise product demo, public electrocution of the CEO. Very festive.”
Her gaze finally drops to the forms in front of her. Her voice softens, just a little.
“Everyone knew Gordon as the numbers guy. The cuts, the bonuses, the speeches.”
She taps the pen against the table. “Not many people remember when it wasn’t like that.”
She glances at you, weighing how much to say.
“When this branch opened, it was just a handful of us trying to build something that wouldn’t collapse in six months.
Long nights, cheap takeout, terrible coffee.”
She gives a humorless smile.
“We were stupid enough to fall in love in the middle of it.
Me and Gordon.”
The admission hangs in the air for a moment.
“He said he wanted a partner,” she continues quietly. “But what he really wanted was someone to clean up after his decisions.”
Her fingers tighten around the pen.
“Promote me, tell me I’m brilliant, then hand me the termination list and walk away.
Every time he cut deeper, I was the one who delivered the news.”
She shakes her head.
“When he realized having an HR manager for a girlfriend ‘looked bad,’ he ended it with a memo.
Can you imagine?”
Her laugh is sharp and brief.
“‘Professional boundaries,’ he called it.
He kept the title, the office, the bonuses.
I got the job of making his orders sound humane.”
Her tablet buzzes. She checks an alert—legal wants timestamps, security wants statements, PR wants language. She starts typing, the motions practiced and precise.
“So yes,” she says, not looking up, “I knew him. Better than most.”
Her shoulders stiffen.
“I’m not devastated he’s gone.
I’m just… tired that even his death comes with forms to fill out.”
Holly turns fully back to her work, drafting emails and internal notes, already trying to calculate how Gordon’s very public death will shred the company—and her department—in the days ahead.