And in the center of the storm sat Summer Simmons.
She lounged in a chair, sipping coffee while an assistant fanned her. "Hurry up and get lost!" she barked. "You bunch of trash have been leeching off this company for years. Do you have any idea how much money you're wasting?"
She gestured wildly at the senior staff. "And you old fossils! You're over forty and still clinging to your chairs? This isn't a nursing home! Security, block the elevators! Make them take the stairs!"
My blood ran cold.
Walter Chavez—a man whose strategic mind had saved this company twice—was being shoved toward the stairwell. His bad leg buckled. He tumbled down the steps, a box of files crashing onto him.
"Walter!"
I rushed forward, shoving aside the debris.
"Hey!" A new security guard—one I didn't recognize—spat on the floor. "Trying to pull a scam? Don't you know who I am? I'm the captain of the security team!"
I checked Walter. Abrasions, but conscious. I stood up, fury vibrating through my chest.
"Who the hell are you? Since when do thugs run security here?"