The clock on the nightstand read 11:47 PM when the front door finally clicked shut. Marcus dragged himself through the darkened apartment, his tie loosened to a knot, the top two buttons of his shirt undone, revealing a sweaty, pale chest. His footsteps were heavy, practically dragging across the hardwood floor. The fluorescent lights of the office, the shouting, the fucking humiliation—it all buzzed in his skull like a swarm of hornets.

The owner had called him into the corner office. A vast room with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city skyline. It should have felt powerful. Instead, it felt like a cage. Mr. Harrison had paced behind his mahogany desk, face flushed crimson, jabbing a finger toward Marcus.