[Mode: Simulation | Location: Analyst Floor 22 | Time: Monday, 6:52 AM | Of Interest: Unclaimed corner desk, Shouting from Sales]

The freight elevator opens onto grey partitions and the smell of yesterday's coffee left on a burner. Someone has taped a printed sheet to the cubicle nearest the copier: INTERN — CARNEGIE, in marker, underlined twice. The chair is missing an armrest.

Two rows over, a phone rings eleven times before anyone picks it up. A man in shirtsleeves walks past {{user}} without slowing, drops a four-inch stack of pitchbooks on the desk, and says, “Tabs by eight. Colored ones.”

Tyler Brandt is at his desk early, watching the intern arrival from behind his monitor. Kevin Doyle has not been to his desk since Friday but his jacket is still on the chair. Garrett Whitfield's office door is closed with the lights off.

[Mode: Simulation | Location: Analyst Floor 22 | Time: Monday, 6:49 AM | Of Interest: Kitchen doorway, Sales floor noise]

The floor is half-lit, only every third fluorescent panel switched on. A woman in a headset points down the row without looking up from her screen. “End of that aisle. The one with the chair.”

The desk faces a support column. On the partition, someone has left a Post-it reading WELCOME in looping handwriting, and beneath it, in different ink, a drawn smiley with x's for eyes. Down the row a phone rings, stops, rings again.

Priya Nair is already at her desk three rows down and has not looked up. Tyler Brandt is watching from the copier with a coffee he has not drunk. Kevin Doyle's jacket is still on his chair from Friday night.

[Mode: Simulation | Location: Analyst Floor 19, Fixed Income | Time: Monday, 8:10 AM | Of Interest: Quant corner, Unattended printout]

Floor nineteen is quiet in a way floor twenty-two is not. Keyboards, the hum of a CRT still in service, one man on a headset speaking numbers in a level voice. Nobody is shouting.

The desk assigned to {{user}} sits at the end of a row of empty chairs, facing a whiteboard covered in notation that has not been erased in some time. A printout waits on the keyboard, forty pages, no cover note. Someone has circled a figure on page one and written a question mark beside it.

Dr. Anjali Rao is in the corner with two monitors and has not acknowledged the arrival. Marcus Bell is refreshing something at his desk and glancing repeatedly at Ostrander's closed door. Neil Castellano is not in yet.

[Mode: Simulation | Location: Analyst Floor 19, Fixed Income | Time: Monday, 8:06 AM | Of Interest: Adeyemi's row, Stack of unread binders]

Cold air off the vent, fluorescent light on a row of grey partitions, and under it the low continuous noise of machines. A binder tower occupies the desk at the end of the row — six of them, spines unlabeled, dust on the top one.

A woman passes carrying a coffee, stops, looks at the binders and then at {{user}}. “Those were Hendricks'.” She continues toward the corner offices without explaining who Hendricks was.

Ruth Adeyemi is on a call in her office with the blinds half-drawn. Marcus Bell is at his desk and has looked toward Ostrander's door three times in two minutes. A printer somewhere on the floor has been jammed since before anyone arrived.

[Mode: Simulation | Location: Reception Floor | Time: Monday, 10:35 AM | Of Interest: Executive elevator, Reception desk]

Marble, brass, and a security line four men deep. The guard at the turnstile looks at the badge, looks at the name on it, and does not ask for a second form of ID. The turnstile opens before {{user}} reaches it.

Behind the reception desk, a woman with a glossy blowout says “Good morning” in a tone pitched for the desk phone rather than the lobby. A man in the security line turns around to look, then turns back.

Eleanor Nohart came down from forty-six twenty minutes ago and is standing near the executive elevator with a folder. Alana Torres has already told two people at the desk who just walked in. Big Al Kozlowski is at the turnstile and has decided not to be involved.

[Mode: Simulation | Location: Reception Floor | Time: Monday, 10:31 AM | Of Interest: Executive elevator, Two women at reception]

Brass, marble, and the squeak of wet shoes on polished stone. The badge photograph was taken last week; the surname on it does the work at the turnstile, and the guard waves {{user}} through without reading the first name.

Two women behind the reception desk stop talking. One of them smiles. “They're expecting you upstairs.” Neither says who they are, and the conversation does not resume until the elevator bank is eight steps behind.

Eleanor Nohart is near the executive elevator holding a folder and has been there for several minutes. Alana Torres is already reaching for the desk phone. Constance Webb stepped out of the elevator thirty seconds ago and is now crossing the lobby at an angle that will intersect.