Marcus opened his mouth to speak, words tumbling up his throat – I set my alarm, it didn't go off, I don't know how I let this happen – but his supervisor held up a hand to cut him off mid-breath.
"I heard your car broke down," he said, his voice steady as he folded his large hands on the polished desk. The morning light streaming through his window caught the silver in his dark hair, and for a second, Marcus couldn't read his expression.
He blinked, the surprise hitting him hard enough to make his chest tighten. "My car broke down? But I – I drove here just fine. It's parked in the garage downstairs, I swear. None of that happened."
His supervisor leaned back in his chair, tapping a finger against a thick stack of papers – the very promotion files Marcus had spent weeks preparing for. "I know you're confused. But Richard came to my office ten minutes ago, looking more concerned than I've ever seen him. Said he'd passed your building on his way in, took the long route to avoid highway traffic, and saw your sedan pulled over by the curb with its hood up. He even stopped to ask if you needed help, but said you'd already called a mechanic and were heading in by taxi."
Richard Hayes. The name alone carried weight in every corner of the company. His family didn't just have money – they'd built half the high-rises that dotted the city's skyline, sat on the boards of three major banks, and had connections that stretched across the country. He'd joined the operations team six months prior, and while he was competent enough, everyone knew he'd been fast-tracked for leadership. Marcus had worked alongside him on the downtown expansion project; Richard was good with numbers, but he'd never had to scrape together rent money at the end of the month, never had to choose between buying groceries and fixing a leaky roof. He'd never known what it meant to fight for every single opportunity.
"He even showed me this," his supervisor added, sliding his phone across the desk. The screen displayed a clear photo: Marcus's dark blue sedan, hood propped open, parked on the quiet street outside his apartment building. A small crowd of early-morning passersby had stopped to glance at it – and in the background, Marcus could make out the distinctive shape of Richard's white Range Rover, pulled over to the side. "He said he waited for ten minutes to make sure you were okay before driving on. Offered to call a tow truck for you himself, and insisted I not hold this against you – said 'everyone has bad days, especially when they're carrying so much on their shoulders.'"
Marcus stared at the photo, his mind racing. He'd locked his car in the parking lot last night – he'd even checked twice, his hands shaking from the remnants of another nightmare about the accident. How had it gotten to the street? Who had moved it? And why would Richard go to such lengths to tell this story?
"His father called me at 7:30 this morning," his supervisor continued, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "Wanted to discuss 'the future of the department' and made a point of mentioning how 'important it is to reward both talent and character.' When Richard came in with this tale of helping a colleague... well, it paints quite a picture, doesn't it? Either he's genuinely trying to protect you – to give you an excuse so the higher-ups don't question your reliability – or he's playing a game I don't want to be part of."
Just then, there was a soft knock on the door before it swung open. Richard stepped inside, dressed in a crisp navy suit that must have cost more than Marcus's monthly rent, holding two steaming cups of coffee from the café down the street – his supervisor's usual black tea latte, and Marcus's preferred black coffee with two sugars.
"There you are, buddy!" He flashed a wide, warm smile, but his dark eyes narrowed just for a split second when they met Marcus's gaze. "I was so worried when I saw your car – engine trouble this early in the morning is the worst, especially on a day like today. How'd you manage to get here in the end? Did the taxi show up quick?"
Marcus took the coffee cup, his fingers wrapping around the warm ceramic. The scent of roasted beans filled his nose, but he couldn't shake the cold knot of suspicion in his stomach. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to stage this breakdown. Someone had wanted him to look like he was struggling, like he couldn't handle the pressure. And Richard Hayes was standing right in front of him, playing the role of the perfect colleague – but Marcus could see the calculation behind that friendly smile now.