Chapter 4 - The 12th Floor TruceThe 12th-floor staff breakroom smelled of cheap instant coffee, microwaved oatmeal, and stale disinfectant. It was a windowless room with scuffed linoleum floors, a flickering overhead light, and a humming vending machine that ate dollar bills without mercy.
When I pushed the door open, my heart was hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.
Leo was sitting at a small, wobbly laminate table. He wasn't crying. He wasn't rocking back and forth or covering his ears. Instead, he was completely engrossed in watching Savannah carefully fold a fresh white washcloth into the shape of a tiny elephant.
Savannah looked up as the door clicked shut. She didn't look angry anymore; her face was calm, almost heartbreakingly gentle.
"You came alone," she noted, sliding the towel elephant across the table toward Leo's small, trembling fingers.
"I always keep my promises," I said, stepping quietly into the room, making sure to keep my distance so as not to overwhelm him. "Though breaking into the staff quarters isn't exactly standard hotel policy, Miss Reeves."
"Call me Savannah," she said softly, watching as Leo picked up the towel elephant and traced its trunk with his thumb. "And technically, I didn't break in. I live in the basement quarters when my shift is over, and Leo wandered down the service stairwell. He likes the quiet here. There are no sirens, no traffic horns, and no high-powered executives screaming into Bluetooth earpieces."
A bitter smile touched my lips. She had my number completely.
"My board is trying to tear me apart upstairs," I admitted, surprised by my own candor. Saying it out loud felt like admitting defeat, yet standing here in this dingy breakroom, it felt strangely weightless. "They think I'm weak because my son doesn't speak. They think my mind is slipping because I can't fix him."
Savannah paused. She looked up from the table, her hazel eyes locking onto mine with a piercing intensity.
"They think he's a liability," she said quietly. "Because they measure everything by profit margins and performance metrics. But Leo isn't a problem to be solved, Mr. Vance. He's just... listening. While the rest of the world is screaming at the top of their lungs, he's waiting for someone to say something worth hearing."
She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small, worn leather-bound notebook, sliding it across the table toward me.
"What is this?" I asked, looking down at it.
"My brother's journal," she said, her voice dropping to a near-whisper. "He didn't speak until he was eight years old. Everyone told my parents to institutionalize him. They said he was hopelessly broken. But he wasn't. He was just processing the world at a different frequency. Read it. It might teach you more about your son than all your millions ever could."
May you like
Before I could reach out and touch the notebook, the heavy metal door of the breakroom banged open with a deafening crash.
"Julian!" Frankie shouted, breathless and wide-eyed. "Thank God I found you. Charles just called an emergency vote on the 50th floor. They’ve frozen your corporate accounts. If you don't get up there right now, Vance Global is gone."
