As the door swings shut behind him, the murmur of the dining room fades, replaced by the dim, echoing corridor that leads to the back offices. Daniel feels the familiar prickle of apprehension, a sense that he’s trespassing into the lives of those who work under his name, who bear the weight of his decisions.
Jenna is waiting in the shadowed alcove near the restrooms, her expression calm but her eyes bright with a determination that cuts through the gloom. She steps forward as he approaches, her voice low but unwavering. “Mr. Whitmore, I’m sorry for the note. I didn’t know how else to get your attention.”
Daniel nods, appreciating her candor. “You have it now. What’s going on here, Jenna?”
