Stepping back out from the recessed shadows of the loading dock, Ryan smoothed down the lapels of his charcoal suit jacket and willed his breathing to steady. The damp concrete air of the service alley carried the faint, chemical scent of industrial solvent and stale cardboard, a stark contrast to the climate-controlled sterility of the fourth-floor marketing pod. Before he could take two steps toward the main staff elevators, however, a sudden, scuffling movement near a towering stack of shrink-wrapped pallets arrested him. A slight, hunched figure in an oversized corporate fleece darted out from the gloom, eyes wide and bloodshot with exhaustion.
Before Ryan could react, the trembling stranger closed the distance with desperate speed, thrusting a bulky, unmarked manila envelope directly into his hands. The person's fingers were ice-cold and damp against Ryan’s palm. "They're shifting the baseline numbers to the Chiba server," the witness hissed, their voice cracking with panic before they wrenched their hand away and vanished back down the dim corridor through a swinging fire door that clicked shut with a hollow echo.
Left standing alone in the drafty service hallway, Ryan stared down at the heavy envelope resting awkwardly against his canvas messenger bag. A sharp spike of unease radiated outward from his chest, but years of surviving corporate restructures and arbitrary budget cuts kept his outward posture rigid. Slipping the mysterious package deep into his bag alongside the incriminating leather-bound ledger, he checked his watch—it was approaching half-past two—and forced his tired legs to turn back toward the office, knowing the afternoon review was fast approaching.