Patricia Salazar was finishing the last streak on a floor-to-ceiling window when something caught the light behind her—a flash of gold where gold didn’t belong.
On the polished mahogany desk of the executive office lay an envelope so elegant it looked almost defiant, as if daring the room to justify its presence. Thick paper. Embossed lettering. A wax seal pressed with deliberate care.
It didn’t whisper opportunity.
Patricia kept wiping the glass, pretending not to notice how her pulse had quickened. She told herself she was imagining things. Told herself curiosity was a luxury she couldn’t afford. Yet her gaze returned again and again to that envelope, pulled by a quiet intuition she didn’t fully trust—the feeling that life sometimes tests people not with open doors, but with carefully disguised traps.
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