A sudden, damp draft swept off the river, cutting through the glass doors of the Rhodes tower lobby and making the edges of the pink catering invoice flutter in Ryan's grip. Just as Vance drew breath to demand an immediate answer regarding the unallocated hospitality charges, the wall-mounted intercom box near the elevator bank buzzed with a sharp, electronic shriek. The building manager's voice, crackling with static and thinly veiled irritation, echoed off the polished concrete pillars, paging Ryan directly to collect a bulky, misdelivered parcel that had somehow bypassed the automated mailroom sorting.
Ryan blinked heavily, the chill air biting through his thin cotton sleeves as the surreal absurdity of the moment pressed down on him. Vance stood shoulder-to-shoulder with the towering stack of shrink-wrapped freight crates, his expression a tight mask of corporate urgency that felt entirely alien against the backdrop of a quiet residential lobby on a Saturday evening. Yet, despite the physical miles between his desk and his home, Ryan realized he had nowhere left to hide from the relentless administrative machinery that followed him wherever he went.