The numbers on my screen blurred together, shifting in and out of focus until they meant nothing. Outside, clouds cast restless shadows across the Financial District's glass towers. I adjusted the formulas. Rechecked the data. It didn't matter. None of it did.
"Todd, I can take a look at the model and--"
Todd barely looked up from his phone, idly spinning a stress ball. "Yeah, don't worry about it, Harris. It's covered."
I hesitated. "I worked on similar models back in Columbus--"
"You're still getting up to speed," he sighed, cutting me off with the ease of someone who'd mastered doing nothing. "Let the team handle it."
The team. As if I wasn't part of it. As if I hadn't been watching deals happen from the sidelines for weeks, waiting for a chance to prove myself.
Todd's phone buzzed, and his attention snapped away from me completely. "Shit, gotta take this," he muttered, already lifting it to his ear. "Yeah? No, tell them we're pushing the deck to tomorrow." A pause. Then a dry chuckle. "Yeah, well, if they wanted it today, they should've staffed better." He leaned back in his chair, grinning at whatever response he got. "That's their problem, not mine."
I caught a glimpse of his computer screen as he spun lazily in his chair--fantasy football stats, not the financial models he claimed needed his immediate attention. I lingered for a half-second longer than I should have, waiting for him to remember I was standing there. He didn't. A month ago, I would have slunk back to my desk, convinced I'd somehow deserved the dismissal.
The jackhammers from the construction site across the street matched the frustration pounding in my skull as I walked back to my desk. The merger proposal I'd hoped to help analyze sat untouched on Jeff's desk down the hall while Todd hadn't looped me into a single meaningful project in weeks. Something had to change. And for the first time, I felt ready to do something about it.
I pressed my fingers against my temples, frustration buzzing beneath my skin. Emma's voice echoed in my head: "You're spinning your wheels, Matt. You're better than this."
The words hit differently now, carrying the weight of truth I'd been avoiding. She'd seen it from the beginning--how I kept waiting for someone to notice my potential instead of demanding the chance to prove it. Each night at the bar, between pours and conversations, she'd been quietly challenging me to want more, to be more.
Maybe, for the first time, I was ready to listen.
The same determination I'd seen in her eyes when she talked about her writing--that unwavering belief in what she could accomplish--stirred something in my chest. She was right. I was better than this. And it was time to stop waiting for someone else to recognize it.
I needed perspective from someone who actually gave a damn about doing good work, not just coasting. And I knew exactly who could help me change things.
Chris was the closest thing I had to a friend in the office, and one of the few people there I genuinely respected. Unlike me, he worked under Jeff, a Senior Manager known for developing his team. While Jeff had put Chris on a high-profile Debt Structuring Model--work with real stakes, real clients, and real learning opportunities--Todd had me tweaking font sizes on investor memos. Hardly the kind of work that mattered.
Through the glass walls, I saw Chris returning to his office, sleeves pushed up, brow furrowed--clearly fresh from another deep-dive session with Jeff. I waited a few minutes before pushing back from my desk and knocking on his doorframe.
Chris looked up from his laptop, his usual collected presence somehow making even exhaustion look intentional. Dark hair slightly disheveled from what I assumed were hours of running calculations, he had the kind of natural confidence that made his wrinkled navy dress shirt and pushed-up sleeves look more considered than casual. Behind thin black-framed glasses, his expression shifted from deep concentration to mild amusement.
He glanced at his screen, then back at me. "Got a minute?" I asked.
He sighed and leaned back, stretching. "For you, Harris? I suppose I can spare a few seconds of my valuable time."
I stepped inside, glancing at his screen. Complex formulas and debt waterfalls filled his monitor--real analysis, the kind that actually moved deals forward. The kind of work I should be doing, the kind I'd been doing before taking what was starting to feel like a step backward.
"Busy?"
He snorted. "If you mean, 'trying to solve a debt structuring nightmare that'll probably make or break a deal,' then yeah, a little. But if you mean, 'copy-pasting numbers into PowerPoint slides that no one will ever read,' then no, that's your department."
I winced, but appreciated the honesty. It reminded me of Emma's directness, how refreshing it was to talk to someone who didn't dance around the truth. I let out a short laugh, shaking my head. "Yeah, thanks for the reminder."
Chris shut his laptop halfway, giving me his full attention. "Alright, what's up?"
I hesitated for a second, then just went for it. "I could use your insight on something. And I'm willing to buy you a drink in exchange."
Chris tapped his fingers against his desk, considering. "Alright, I'll bite. Where we going?"
"The Dead Rabbit."
He shrugged. "I know it's supposed to be great, just never made it over."
"Well, consider this your introduction," I said, pushing off the doorframe.
Chris's lips curled. "Fine, but you're buying."
"Yeah, yeah. See you after work."
Walking back to my desk, I felt lighter somehow. Maybe it was having a plan, or maybe it was just knowing I wasn't going to sit quietly anymore. Either way, it felt like a step in the right direction.
I was shutting down my computer when Chris appeared at my desk, jacket slung over his shoulder. "Ready?"
I grabbed mine off the back of my chair. "Yeah, let's get out of here."
The October air had an edge that hinted at winter as we stepped onto Water Street. The contrast between modern glass towers and colonial buildings reminded me of what Emma had said about New York--how it was a city of contradictions, where history and progress existed in the same breath.
Inside The Dead Rabbit, the bar hummed with its usual energy--dim lights, dark wood, the warm buzz of conversation filling the space. Chris took it in, nodding with approval. "Alright, I like this. It's got character."
Emma was already there, Buffalo Trace in hand, her blue eyes meeting mine with quiet warmth before flicking to Chris, reading him in that careful way she always did.
Chris stilled mid-motion as Emma came into view.
Chris leaned against the bar, surveying the place. "Yeah, okay. I see why you come here."
Emma smirked, pouring my usual without asking. Chris watched the exchange, then nodded approvingly. "Good taste."
"Chris works under Jeff," I explained. "One of the few people at the office who actually knows what he's doing."
