Brennan was waiting in the corridor.
“What were you doing?”
“Submitting research.”
“To Beck?”
“Yes.”
His face darkened.
“Who told you to do that?”
“He posted the assignment.”
“That isn’t permission to walk into a vice president’s office.”
“He asked interns to submit directly.”
“I don’t care what the task board says.”
Iris frowned.
“You’re not my supervisor.”
Silence.
Brennan stared.
Then removed his phone.
Typed.
Iris saw the message because he made no effort to hide it.
Watch this.
Two minutes later, Derek appeared.
Cole followed.
Trent did not.
Brennan raised his voice.
“Everybody.”
The open-plan floor quieted.
Iris felt her stomach drop.
“This is important.”
Brennan pointed toward her.
“Interns do not bypass reporting structure.”
Claire stood behind her desk.
Raymond Beck’s door remained closed.
Brennan continued.
“This intern submitted unauthorized work directly to senior leadership.”
Iris said:
“It was an open assignment.”
“Stop.”
Brennan walked to her desk.
He saw the second copy of the waterfront report.
Picked it up.
“This?”
“Yes.”
“This is what you think senior people need?”
He flipped several pages.
He was not reading.
“This is garbage.”
Then he tore it.
Once.
Again.
Twenty-three pages separated down the binding.
Brennan dropped them across the desk.
Derek began clapping.
Slowly.
Cole joined.
Someone near the windows whispered:
“Come on.”
Brennan turned, smiling.
“That’s how you maintain standards.”
Derek held up his phone.
Recording.
“Got it.”
Brennan laughed.
“Send it.”
The two walked away.
The floor remained silent.
Iris looked at the torn report.
Then at Claire.
Claire’s eyes were wet.
She still did not move.
Iris picked up the paper.
Stacked it.
Opened her laptop.
Her phone buzzed under the desk.
Grant.
How’s day two?
Iris typed:
Still learning.
Then deleted it.
She typed:
Not yet. I need more time.
A minute later:
Iris.
She did not answer.
At one fifteen, Brennan summoned her to the thirty-second-floor VIP conference room.
The receptionist looked embarrassed.
“He asked for you specifically.”
“Why?”
“Water service.”
Iris almost laughed.
“Of course.”
She carried a tray upstairs.
Brennan sat at the mahogany board table with Derek, Cole, and Trent.
Catered Italian food covered the sideboard.
No company meeting.
No clients.
Just lunch.
Brennan pointed toward four glasses.
“Pour.”
Iris did.
Derek grinned.
“Personal assistant now.”
Brennan leaned back.
“Intern.”
“Cheaper.”
Trent’s face tightened.
Iris finished.
“Anything else?”
“Stand by the door.”
“For what?”