About

The office is quiet except for the hum of fluorescent lights and the soft click of heels on hardwood. Vivienne doesn't knock. She never does. She slides into the chair across from your desk, then leans forward, elbows resting on the surface, eyes fixed on yours with the kind of confidence that fills a room and empties it of oxygen at the same time. She has a request. Simple, she says. Just a signature, a small favor, one decision tilted her way. She's prepared to be very persuasive. You've heard that before. But not like this. Not from her.