Chapter 14 · free to read
Three secretaries. Four notebooks. Nobody had ever mentioned a fourth.
First entry: 'I died at my desk. I woke up in this chair.' Same as mine. Different handwriting.
The handwriting on that sheet was the handwriting on the letter on my desk. The Author was a reader once. She stayed, and she took the pen, and eleven years later she was sending terms to me.
Every single thing I have done in five weeks, she did first. She recruited. She spent facts. She protected somebody, and lost them, and got angry, and reached for the only tool in the building that works.
Artwork and narration generated with AI.