The elevator chimed softly as Elara stepped into the executive wing.
She moved quickly down the corridor, passing a small alcove tucked between the offices—a minimalist pantry stocked with coffee machines and a discreet liquor cabinet for "long meetings."
It was empty, humming quietly under the too-bright lights, forgotten for now.
She barely glanced at it. Her focus was ahead, where the double doors to the main conference room loomed like a tribunal gate.
Elara's shoes clicked against the marble floor, the sound unnaturally loud in the charged silence.
A curved line of executives turned toward her, faces carved in stone. Some wore watches that cost more than her rent. Others tapped gold pens against sleek leather portfolios, the branding of White Mansion etched discreetly on their covers.
No greetings. No handshakes.
Just quiet judgment, weighing her like meat on a butcher's scale.
She tightened her grip on her datapad, every instinct screaming caution.
