"Prove it. Who here would believe you?"
Callan looked past him, toward the frosted-glass doors of the chief executive's private suite. The doors were closed. There was no reason to expect help from behind them. He thought of the small apartment in Queens, the lunchbox waiting by the kitchen sink, and the little girl who had hugged him that morning without knowing he might not have a job when she came home from school. Then he lifted his chin.
"I only need one person to believe me."
The executive-suite doors opened.
Vivian Ashford stepped into the corridor carrying a slim, closed folder beneath one hand. She was thirty-four, tall and graceful, with luminous fair skin, emerald-green eyes, and long chocolate-brown hair falling in glossy waves over the shoulders of an ivory designer blazer. Her deep-burgundy silk dress and understated diamonds looked entirely at home among the polished stone and brass. What changed the atmosphere, however, had nothing to do with her appearance. It was the stillness with which she took in the box, the envelope, the employees' faces, and the way Blaine had positioned himself between Callan and the elevator.
Blaine turned with the eager smile of a man certain his superior had arrived to finish the humiliation for him. Vivian walked past him without acknowledging that smile. She stopped beside Callan, not in front of him as though he needed hiding, but close enough that there was no mistaking whose side she had chosen. Her folder remained closed.
"I believe him, Blaine. Step away from him."
The confidence went out of Blaine's face so quickly that even Leah noticed. He looked from Vivian's eyes to the folder in her hand. For the first time that morning, he seemed interested in what might be written on a sheet of paper.
A lift chimed softly at the far end of the corridor. No one moved toward it.
Vivian turned slightly toward Callan. "Mr. Mercer, you are not required to discuss your employment in a public hallway. Would you be willing to come into my office with independent counsel present? You may decline."
That last sentence mattered. Callan had spent years inside a company where requests from senior executives were almost always commands in a more pleasant disguise. Vivian's words left the decision in his hands.
"I came here to resign," he said.
"I understand. I won't pretend you didn't."
Blaine opened his mouth. "Vivian, this is a personnel matter. There's absolutely no reason to turn an ordinary separation into—"
"You have been instructed to step away," she said. "I expect you to do that."
He moved. It was only a pace, but in a corridor where everyone had watched him tower over Callan, that pace was noticed by every person present.
Vivian looked toward the reception counter. "Leah, please ask Dana Price to meet us. And don't erase or amend a single entry in this morning's visitor or access logs. That instruction applies to everyone."