The smell of lemon-scented cleaner finally broke her concentration. She looked up, annoyed. The night-cleaning crew knew her rules: her office was off-limits until she had physically left the building.

She stood, her joints aching, and strode to the door. She pulled it open to find a man in a gray janitorial uniform, his back to her, pushing a large yellow bucket. He froze.

“I—I’m sorry, Ms. Vance,” the man stammered, his accent thick. Luis, his name badge read. He was new. “The… the supervisor, he say you gone home. I am so sorry. No, no…”

“My office is to be cleaned after I leave, Luis. Not when you assume I have,” Anna said, her voice like chipping ice.

“Yes, Ms. Vance. Of course. Sorry.” He began to back away, grabbing his cart. But he wasn’t alone.