At 5:30 PM, the fortieth floor of Blackwood Logistics began its daily wind-down. The phones stopped ringing, and the manic energy of the trading day settled into a quiet, shuffling exhaustion.
Damon signed the last of the European shipping authorizations, his signature sharp and aggressive. He closed the leather-bound folder and stood up, rolling his shoulders to release the tension.
He walked out of his office, pushing the doors open.
Sarah was at her desk, powering down her monitors and organizing her highlighters into a meticulous row.
In the alcove, Leo sat at the auxiliary desk. He hadn't moved from the chair since Damon had placed him there hours ago. He was staring blankly at a spreadsheet, his chin resting in his palm. He looked drained, the vibrant energy from the morning entirely depleted.
"Sarah, leave the rest for tomorrow," Damon said, his voice carrying across the quiet reception area. "Go home."
