Gemotions

The office was eerily quiet. For years, the booming voice of Mr. Fitzwilliam had echoed through the halls, dictating market trends and chewing out interns. Now, silence. Michael, his protégé, stared at the empty desk, the pristine surface reflecting his own baffled expression. A faint twitch started in his cheek.

On the desk lay a single, unopened package, addressed to Michael. He reached for it, his hands trembling with a sudden surge of… something. Inside, he found a tiny rubber chicken and a note that read, “Good luck. You’ll need it. - Fitz.” He threw his head back and let out a laugh.