The newsroom hit Audrey the second she walked in.
Lights blazed overhead. Most of them were on, burning white against the gray morning light coming through the windows. Keyboards clacked—fast, impatient, the sound of people chasing deadlines. Low conversations hummed beneath it, the familiar rhythm of an office that never really slept. Large screens mounted along the wall displayed financial news feeds and market charts that changed every few seconds, red and green bleeding into each other.
Someone near the window was arguing about bond yields, voice low but sharp. A printer hummed somewhere behind the editorial desks.
Audrey dropped her bag on the back of her chair. Laptop down. Open. The coffee was still warm against her palm when she pulled up the morning briefing reports.
Several new articles had already appeared overnight across financial outlets. Dozens of them. All mentioning the same thing.
The Rochefort Anniversary Banquet.
