8:40 AM
“I told you, I don’t care what you say to the lawyer.” Riley Richardson clutches her flip phone, stopping as a slew of others dressed in their work attire pour around her. Her lips curl back, hazel eyes flaring as she pulls the phone away from her ear and stares at it. She places her lips as close to the speaker as they’ll get. “It’s the fact that you slept with her, asshole. How’s that going to hold up in court?”
She clacks it shut, shoulders drooping. She smiles at someone who tells her good morning and continues toward the elevators. Inside, it’s a sardine can, but Riley finds her spot in the corner and leans her head against the cool metal. Today it’s quiet. No one pollutes the ride up with their voices. She closes her heavy eyes.
Someone gently nudges her. “Rough night?”
Riley forces a breath out. She finds her coworker next to her. Jackson—lanky, dark-haired, with an almost constant smirk on his angular face. Riley used to find the wheat-skinned man with his bright, narrow eyes and perfect little nose attractive. She used to think they’d make good babies. Not too many Blasians around these days.
She pinches the bridge of her nose, eyebrows furrowed. “That’s none of your business.”
He leans close. His cologne tickles her senses, and she makes the mistake of looking into his eyes. His rich pupils radiate with amusement. “A queen such as yourself is always my business.”
That pulls a groan out of the woman as the elevator stops.
Thirtieth floor.
People hurry out. Others scramble to replace them.
“Leave me alone, Jackson,” Riley says.
The metal box ascends. Luckily for Riley, it only stops twice more, then reaches her floor. The red letters populate the small black screen, reading: 94.
She pushes off the wall, out of the elevator, Jackson on her heels.
“Wait, Riley!”
She whirls on him. “I have to get to work.”
Jackson checks his wristwatch. “It’s eight-forty-five. The insurance claims can wait.”
“Sixty seconds.” Riley crosses her arms.
“I apologize about last week. I didn’t think you were still so sore about what happened with Jerem—” Riley holds up a finger in warning, jaw tight. “Sorry. I forgot. Listen, just let me make it up to you. This weekend. Central Park. Lunch afterward?”
Riley gives no indication of saying yes, so Jackson clasps his hands together and bats his curly eyelashes. She laughs, looking away, then shrugs. “Sure. Let me know the details later. But this is your final chance.”
Jackson straightens with a salute Riley’s father would criticize. “Yes, ma’am!”
She turns away, eyes on the floor. The clack of her heels echoes throughout the hall. A tawny glow from the rising sun pools across the ground. It climbs up her dark trouser legs and spills over her chest. Her golden necklace glints in the light.
Riley touches the necklace, remembering her mother with a smile.
Then the murmurs come.
Riley looks up. People are at the large windows, pointing.
New York City sparkles. The sky is cloudless and serenely blue.
But something flies toward them.
It gets closer.
And closer.
A woman crashes to her knees in prayer. A man drops his folder and rushes past Riley for the stairs. She squints, finally seeing what that speck is…
A plane.
Her eyes widen. Her heart shivers through her. She can’t move even though she wants to. Her limbs have betrayed her.
“Riley!” Jackson grabs her from behind.
Screams crack open the panic. People run. Chairs slam to the floor. Paper goes flying.
Riley’s blood rampages through her veins as Jackson pulls her toward the stairwell.
But they’re too late.
They’re all too late.
The first plane makes contact, tearing through metal and glass and hundreds of lives.
In honor of all the lives lost during 9/11, take a moment of silence today. In honor of all the servicemen and servicewomen who put their lives on the line to save others, and all those who thought it would be just another Tuesday. Rest in Power.
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