“Shred this! Now!” screamed the Managing Director, shoving a stack of papers at her.
Of course he didn’t know her name. As far as he knew, she was just the coffee girl.
But time was suddenly of the essence. All hands on deck.
She examined the messy pile of papers. She had no idea what was on them, but they must be important. And illegal. Why else would the FBI raid their tiny Midtown office?
She stood at the shredder, made herself a deal: destroy half, keep the rest. This place was going down, but she wasn’t going with it.
The Weekday One Hundred 