Back Through The Glass

Logan turned off the side street and joined the line of black cars near Sterling Corporation’s curb. The tower rose ahead, glass catching a thin sun, and he sat for one breath with both hands on the wheel.

He did not use the executive garage.

He walked to the front entrance with his folder under one arm and his old suit pulling at the shoulders. The guard at the security desk recognized the face on the internal alert, then the name on the visitor log, then the badge request in Logan’s hand.

“Temporary sticker,” Logan said.

The desk clerk blinked. “Sir, the board president said—”

“I know what he said.”

The woman slid a white paper badge across the counter. Her eyes flicked to his tie, then away.

Up on the thirty-fourth floor, the elevator doors opened onto polished stone and a reception area too quiet for a Monday. Logan stepped out with the sticker on his lapel and his folder flat against his chest.

Marcus Pruitt was already there.

He stood near the executive suite doors with his leather portfolio tucked under one arm and a polished speech on his face. His tie sat a little too straight, as if he had spent the morning in a mirror.

Then he saw Logan.

The smile broke loose first, then the chuckle. “Well. They let you back in.”

Logan stopped a few feet short. “Good morning, Marcus.”

Marcus glanced toward the suite, then back. “I thought you were a consultant.”

“I am.”

He gave a small laugh that asked the room to laugh with him. “Right. Of course. The budget version.”

Logan did not move. “Did you come to speak, or to perform?”

Marcus’s hand went to his tie. “I came to make sure yesterday’s confusion doesn’t affect morale.”

Logan looked at the closed leather portfolio. It never opened.

“You mean my suit.”

Marcus’s chuckle came again, thinner this time. “People notice details.”

“They do.”

A door clicked farther down the hall. Someone inside the suite had heard enough to know trouble had returned with a paper badge.

Marcus adjusted the folder against his ribs, then tried a grin that would have worked in a diner.

“I’m here to help the transition,” he said.

Logan held his gaze.

“Then start by speaking plainly.”

Marcus swallowed and looked past him toward the boardroom.

Beyond the glass, a few directors were taking their seats. The morning’s dismissal had become a larger matter, and Marcus knew it.

He still had his speech folded up neat in his hands.

He had not opened the portfolio once.

Marcus Pruitt was waiting outside the chairman’s office with a smile that had no warmth in it and a leather portfolio tucked under his arm.

“Logan. I was hoping we could clear the air.”

Logan stopped at the threshold. Marcus’s tie was perfect. His cuffs were perfect. His shoes shone against the hallway carpet.

“You can speak here,” Logan said.

Marcus gave a short chuckle and opened the portfolio an inch, then closed it again without removing a page. “This morning was bad optics. A little friction. That’s all. We’re all under stress.”

Logan turned the plain band on his finger once.

“You laughed in a boardroom.”

Marcus’s smile stayed put. “Boardrooms are pressure cookers. People say things. I’m sure you understand.”

“No.” Logan kept his voice level. “I understand who talks after a person is escorted out.”

Marcus looked toward the elevator bank, then back at Logan. He shifted his tie knot with two fingers. “I’ve spent twenty years building trust here.”

“You mean access.”

That landed. Marcus’s hand dropped to the portfolio clasp.

“I champion employee feedback,” he said. “Always have.”

“Then why were you laughing when Grace Wittman was dismissed this morning?”

Marcus’s jaw tightened. “I don’t know what you’ve been told.”

“I watched it.”

The smile thinned. “That was a stressful meeting. No one intended harm.”

“Did you know your direct reports were warning people not to speak to the investigators?”

Marcus gave one more dry chuckle, but it came out flat. “This is getting out of hand.”

Logan held out a hand, not for a shake this time, but for the leather folder. Marcus did not move.

“Leave it closed,” Logan said. “And leave my floor.”

The vice president’s face colored. He tucked the portfolio tighter against his ribs and started to speak, then stopped when Logan’s assistant appeared at the end of the hall with a printed memo packet.

“Sir,” she said. “We have the first witness statement on the intimidation email. It traces to Marcus’s chain.”

Marcus froze.

Logan took the packet, read the first page, and handed it back to his assistant.

“Send compliance a hold notice,” he said. “No direct contact. No interviews without counsel present.”

Marcus stared at the carpet. For the first time, he had nothing polished to offer.

By noon, two more employees had asked for protected intake. By three, compliance was locking down email archives, and a manager from Marcus’s division was on administrative leave.

Logan stood at the window and watched the winter light slide across the city.

Then his phone lit up with a message from Grace: They asked for the logs. I sent them.

Logan read it twice.

The work had started.