The flakes drifted down slowly, blanketing the city in a soft white layer that dulled the usual chaos of traffic and crowds. Under the glowing streetlights along Lexington Avenue, the snow looked almost magical, turning the cold office buildings into something that resembled a holiday postcard.
Andrew stood outside the glass entrance of his company’s headquarters, brushing snow from his shoulders and pulling his coat collar higher against the wind.
His driver was running late again.
Andrew checked his watch.
6:50 p.m.
He had spent nearly twelve hours inside the building attending meetings about mergers, contracts, and future expansions. Whitman Holdings had once belonged to his father, and when Andrew inherited it six years earlier, he did exactly what everyone expected.
He made it bigger.
Faster.
More profitable.
Most people called that success.
Standing alone in the falling snow, Andrew wasn’t entirely sure anymore.
People rushed past him on the sidewalk—phones to their ears, scarves wrapped tightly around their necks, hurrying home to warm apartments and waiting families.