“You’ve been asked a question.”His tone doesn’t change: Calm, measured, in control.“Do I need to repeat myself?”

“Yes, please.”

There’s a silence that stretches just long enough to make me feel behind.It’s casual, effortless.He doesn’t pause for effect, doesn’t change the energy in the room.But I feel it land.

Ellis is watching me from the head of the table, sleeves rolled up, posture relaxed.“Your take?”

I scan the screen at the front of the room; everyone else follows suit.Consumer behavior models.Psychological triggers.Not my department.Not my project.But I understand what I’m looking at.

I adjust in my seat.“It depends on how it’s framed.If the messaging implies choice, people hesitate.If it presents the outcome as inevitable, they align with it.”

There’s a pause, just long enough to make me wonder if I should have said something else.

Ellis smiles.

It’s small, barely perceptible, he’s not even looking at me when he does it, but it shifts something in the room.Carrie nods, like she always agreed.Stewy leans back in his chair, suddenly on board with whatever side I just took.The conversation tilts slightly, a redistribution of weight I didn’t see coming.

I set my pen down.

I should feel validated, but instead, I feel like I’ve stepped into a game I didn’t know I was playing.

Another silence.

Then Ellis looks my way and nods—just once.

And I realize.

He left the note.

24

Lena

The office is thinning out—phones silenced, coats shrugged on, chairs scraping back as the day unravels into evening.I’m skimming emails, clearing low-priority tasks, pretending the note isn’t still in my bag.

At 5:42 PM, the email arrives.

From: Ellis Harrison

Subject: The Note

Lena,

I assume you found it.The Wexley.7PM.Let’s discuss your future.

– E

I stare at the screen.

Notwould you like to meet?

Notcan you make it?

Just a time.A place.A decision he’s already made.

I close the email, shut down my computer.

I don’t go to The Wexley.I go home.