The elevator doors open. Jude steps into the lobby.
Lights dimmed but not off. The day put away carefully, like a tool that will be needed again in the morning.
He exhales once. Then looks up.
The portraits are exactly where they were before. Three frames, evenly spaced.
Andrew Whitberg — Executive Director, Systems and Operations.
Jude's eyes pass over it without stopping. A brief acknowledgment.
Selah Fierce — Executive Director, Human Resources.
He slows.
Her photograph is formal but unmistakably her. Composed, intelligent, self-possessed. The kind of image meant to inspire confidence without inviting closeness.
Jude looks at it as if this might be the last time he allows himself to see her this way.
Fixed. Framed. Untouched by what just happened upstairs.
Then his gaze shifts.
Vincent Tomlinson — Chief Executive Officer.
Jude's eyes narrow slightly. Something aligns. A line draws itself cleanly from point to point.
He heads for the security desk.
Whatever happens next, it happens now.
Jude slows as he reaches the desk.
The guard isn't looking up. One elbow rests on the counter, phone angled just enough to keep the screen out of view. A basketball game plays silently, the scoreboard flickering with bad news.
Jude leans lightly against the edge of the desk. Just enough to be present without intruding.
"Who's winning?"
The guard startles slightly, then looks up.
"The Hawks," he says automatically. Then shakes his head. "I mean… technically. But they'll probably lose again."
Jude exhales through his nose. "They never should've traded Johnson," he says. "Season was over the second they did that."
The guard's eyes widen. "Maaaan," he says, straightening now, phone forgotten. "Tell me about it. And for what? They didn't even get anyone decent back."
Jude nods, easy. "Cap space and hope," he says. "Neither of which play defense."
The guard snorts. "Facts."
A brief pause settles between them. Then the guard squints slightly. "Everything go alright up there?"
Jude answers calmly, "Yeah, yeah. Just realized something on my way down."
"Did you want to talk to someone," he asks, "or make an appointment?"
"I was hoping to speak with Vincent Tomlinson," Jude says.
The guard's eyebrows lift. "That's…the boss."
"Yeah." Jude glances upward, as if he can see through the ceiling. "I know."
The guard lowers his voice without thinking. "You one of the union folks?"
Jude gives a small smile. "Yeah," he says. "I am."
"I thought so." He turns toward the desk phone.
"You work with Matt?" he asks.
Jude nods. "I do."
The guard smiles. "Yeah. He's been around a lot lately."
"That's good to hear," Jude says. "I'm actually his boss."
The guard's eyebrows lift. "No shit."
He extends a hand. "Bobby."
Jude shakes it. Firm. Easy. "Jude."
Bobby leans back slightly, considering. "Mr. T is still here, I think," he says. "At least I didn't see him leave. Let me see if Dominique's still up there."
Jude tilts his head. "Dominique?"
"His secretary," Bobby says. "If Mr. T's here, she's here too."
A half-smile.
"Dominique knows this place inside and out. But she sits a little too close to the boss, if you ask me." He pauses, then adds, "Now Deborah? Deb's the one people are actually listening to."
Jude doesn't react outwardly. But something settles into place.
Bobby presses a button on the phone.
"Dominique. Excuse me, Ms. Singer. It's Bobby downstairs. At the security desk. Sorry to bug you this late."
A pause.
"Someone's here to see Mr. Tomlinson… one of the organizers…No, not Matt. Someone else." Bobby straightens a little. "Someone higher up."
A change in tone on the other end of the line.
"Um, I didn't ask…No. Yes, I know…Hold on one second." Bobby covers the receiver. "Damn, lady. Take a chill pill."
Bobby looks almost apologetically at Jude. "Sorry it's taking so long. She wants your last name."
"Sure. It's McPhearson."
Bobby nods and turns back. "Jude McPhearson. Yeah." A long pause, then Bobby takes another quick look at Jude. "Yeah… sounds like him…yeah, he's alone...yes…Okay… I'll let him know."
He hangs up and takes a deep breath.
"Didn't know she was going to play Twenty Questions. But Mr. T says he'll see you. You must be pretty important."
Jude laughs softly. "No more important than the next person. We all have a job to do."
Jude reaches out his hand. "Thanks, Bobby. I really appreciate your help."
Bobby's palm meets Jude's enthusiastically. "My pleasure. And thank you. I really appreciate the work you've done. A lot of us here do."
Jude takes a few steps toward the elevator, then turns back.
"Hey, Bobby. Anything I should know about Mr. T before I go up?"
Bobby leans in, lowering his voice like he's calling a play.
"Yeah. He's really smart." A beat. "And because of what you and Matt are doing around here, he's really pissed."
The elevator doors open.
The floor beyond is nearly silent. The air feels different. Curated. Controlled.
Jude steps out.
Dominique Singer is already there. Tablet tucked under one arm. Posture precise. Mid-forties. Sharp eyes. No wasted movement.
"Mr. McPhearson," she says. Not a question.
Jude nods. "That's right."
"He's expecting you."
She turns and starts down the hall without waiting. Jude follows.
Their footsteps echo softly. Hers measured, his matching without effort.
At the end of the corridor, Dominique stops. She turns to him, expression unreadable.
"I'll give you credit for this much," she says quietly. "You're willing to walk straight into the lion's den."
Jude exhales once, the corner of his mouth lifting. "Are you saying I'm like Daniel?"
She gives him a quick, sharp look. Something flickers, then disappears.
"Wait here."
She knocks once, steps inside. The door closes. A moment passes. Then it opens again.
"Mr. Tomlinson will see you now."
Jude gives her a small, soft smile as he steps past.
Dominique doesn't return it, but her eyes linger.
Vincent Tomlinson doesn't gesture for Jude to sit.
Instead, he leans back slightly, fingers steepled, eyes sharp. "Dominique is very impressive, isn't she?" he says.
Jude meets his gaze but doesn't answer.
Vincent smiles thinly. "Sharp. Dependable. Clever. Relentless." A pause. "But do you know what I like most about her?"
Jude says nothing.
"She's one of the twenty-two point three percent of my employees who refuses to join your goddamn campaign."
Vincent remains seated, perfectly still. The kind of stillness that assumes control. His monitor is angled just enough for Jude to see it. Photos. Articles. Headlines.
All focused on Jude McPhearson, Regional Organizer of the Associated Labor Federation.
"So," Vincent says. "You're the big-time union boss stirring shit up in my company."
Jude's expression barely shifts. "Not the boss boss," he says. "But close enough."
Vincent exhales through his nose.
"You know what I find interesting?" he says, gesturing loosely. "This has been unfolding for weeks. Meetings. Tension. Rumors. People looking over their shoulders."
He leans forward slightly.
"And this," he taps the desk once, "is the first time anyone from your so-called Federation has walked into my office."
Jude gives an acknowledging nod. "You're right. You should have heard from us sooner. And for what it's worth, I'm sorry you didn't."
Vincent studies him.
"Huh," he says. "Well. Thanks, but that doesn't change jack shit."
"I didn't expect it to."
Vincent stands and moves toward the window.
"Let me be clear about something," he says. "I built this company. I wrote the first systems myself. I hired the first ten people."
He turns.
"I have put everything I have into making this company what it is. And I'm not going to sit and watch you and your goddamn band of merry men come in here and piss it away."
He glances back at the screen.
"Look at you. Smiling. Shaking hands. I wouldn't be surprised if you kissed a few babies along the way."
Jude glances at the screen, then returns his gaze to Vincent.
"I'm not planning to kiss you," he says evenly. "If that's what you're worried about."
Vincent exhales again.
"Let's cut the bullshit," he says. "You want to talk? Fine. Let's talk."
He gestures once.
"And before you launch into whatever speech you've practiced, understand this. I don't like unions. And I don't trust them."
A short breath.
"My father worked a union job. Thirty-three years. When he needed them, they vanished. But when someone else fucked up? They closed ranks."
He shrugs.
"So forgive me if I don't stand up and join you in a union clap."
Jude doesn't rush. "I hear you," he says finally. "And I'm sorry that happened to your father. Honestly."
Vincent says nothing.
"Protecting the wrong people, avoiding accountability. That's not how my organization operates." Jude holds his gaze. "If it were, I wouldn't be sitting here."
Vincent returns to his chair, eyes narrowing. "So tell me something, McPhearson. Why are you sitting here?"
Jude doesn't answer immediately. Vincent leans forward.
"You come in here calm. Polite. Mild-mannered. Like some kind of Clark Kent with a fucking union badge."
Bobby was right. This guy is pissed.
"You wait until you think you've already won, and then you come to talk. So don't insult me by pretending this is about conversation."
Jude finally speaks.
"If this were about gloating, I wouldn't have bothered."
He leans forward slightly. "And I didn't come here to announce a new sheriff. I came here because tomorrow, whether either of us likes it or not, we're going to be dealing with each other."
A pause.
"And I'd rather start that with a conversation than a war."
Vincent's expression shifts.
"War?" he repeats quietly. A short breath. "If you didn't want a war, you shouldn't have stepped your union ass into my company."
He stands again.
"I built this place from nothing. No investors. No safety net. Just me and people who believed."
He steps closer. "Now you show your face after your people stirred everything up? Now you want to talk?"
A sharp exhale.
"You may win the vote," Vincent says. "But don't be confused. From where I'm sitting, we are already at war."
Jude nods.
"That's exactly why I came up here."
Vincent bristles. "To lecture me?"
Jude shakes his head. "To tell you what happens next if you follow through on that."
Jude stands. "If you turn this into a war, you don't get your company back. You get a battlefield."
Vincent scoffs. "I built this place. I'll outlast you."
Jude nods. "You might. But your employees are going to be union members. So if you go to war, you won't be fighting an outside force. You'll be fighting your own people."
Vincent stares at him.
"They didn't come to us because they hate this place," Jude says. "If they did, they'd already be gone."
"You can fight this," Jude continues. "Draw it out. Test every boundary. But the question is whether you want to spend years fighting your own people."
"No bullshit."
Vincent doesn't respond immediately. He glances at the screen again. The photos. The numbers.
The inevitability.
"I'm sure we'll cross paths again, McPhearson."
Jude nods. "I'm sure we will."
Jude turns and walks out.
Dominique looks up as he passes. For a moment, it seems like she might look away.
She doesn't.
Their eyes meet just long enough for something unspoken to pass between them.
Jude pauses near the hallway, then turns back.
"You know… Daniel walked out of the lion's den completely unharmed."
He steps into the elevator. The doors close.
Dominique allows herself the smallest smile, but it's gone before it can mean anything.