The fluorescent lights of the cubicle farm hummed, a monotonous drone that mirrored the internal soundtrack of Arthur's life. He stared at the spreadsheet, the numbers blurring, meaningless. He’d been in this role, this beige box, for seven years. The air conditioning blasted, creating a chill that settled deep in his bones, making him want to burrow under a blanket, even though he was in a short-sleeved shirt. His coffee cup was empty, but he hadn't moved to refill it. He had a meeting with his supervisor later, a check in. He knew the drill. It was his performance review. It felt like something he had seen a hundred times.
Arthur scrolled through the leaked email from HR. It was the only reason he was still at his desk. He hadn’t touched his work for the last hour. He’d barely breathed. The subject line, "Important Information Regarding the Future of [Company Name]," had ripped through his lethargy, causing a jolt of anxiety. He chewed on his lower lip, the metallic taste a familiar companion these days.
The email's terse language confirmed his suspicions: a sale was imminent. The details were vague, shrouded in corporate jargon, but the implications were clear. He thought about his apartment, his mortgage, his life planned out, all the way to retirement. His hands started to sweat.