A little over a week has passed, and Jack's presence—or rather, lack thereof—has become quite obvious in the workplace. Today is Wednesday, and as usual, I have a lot of work errands to complete. I check my task schedule and notice some documents I have yet to take to my boss for endorsement. I retrieve them from my file cabinet and head to his office.

Just as I'm about to knock on the door, a young woman steps out, leaving my hand stuck mid-air. She's about 5'6" and appears to be in her early twenties. Her green eyes are red and blotchy, and her round face is stained with tears. She pays me no heed, blowing her nose into a pristine white linen handkerchief before walking away, her knee-length floral dress flowing behind her.

I turn my attention back to the door and notice it has been left slightly ajar. I knock softly, and my boss's low, mature voice grants me entry. I enter his office to find his stout figure seated, elbows on his desk, head bent with his face in his palms. He lifts his head to look at me, exhaustion etched on his face. The crow's feet around his eyes are more prominent, showing significant signs of stress.

"Ah, Miss Nicolson, it's you. Call a staff meeting and tell them it's a welfare check. Report back to me when everyone is seated in the boardroom," he adds, running his hands through his thinning gray hair absentmindedly.

I follow his instructions and head to the boardroom to take a seat. The boardroom is an air-conditioned, soundproof twenty-seater space with a wooden oval-shaped table equipped with speakers, a TV, and a projector.

A few minutes later, Mr. Wellington enters, looking tense and stern.

"As you all know, Mr. Ambrose has been absent for some time. His wife was here today, and it turns out he has not been home either." Oh, so that was who the woman was. I can't believe Jack would cheat on such a pretty girl. And what's even more appalling is that she's saddened by his disappearance after the shame he put her through.

"According to her, he hasn't been home since Friday after leaving for work. She has threatened to call the police."

Murmurs erupt following his last sentence.

"Quiet down, please," he says, lifting his right hand. "Honestly, this entire situation is a hassle. If any of you know where he is or if it's one of his escapades he decided to extend for whatever reason, let me know."

He concludes the meeting by assuring us that anyone who comes forward with information will remain anonymous. Then, he instructs us to return to our offices and continue working without letting this become a distraction.

I arrive late at work the next morning, having overslept after watching reruns of Two and a Half Men into the wee hours of the night. As I pull into the parking lot, a new car I've never seen before catches my attention, but I dismiss it and head for the elevators.

The elevator doors ding open, and I step out to see some of my colleagues seated in the waiting chairs in the hallway. I offer a polite greeting and notice Carla among them. She has a cup of coffee in her hands, but her usual smile has been replaced with a sulk. I ask her what's wrong, and she mumbles something about being thrown out of her office so it can be used by someone else. I nod understandingly, feeling her helplessness. I, for one, dislike having random people in my office, especially when I'm not present. I try to press for more information, but she ignores me, returning to her sulking, now muttering a string of curse words under her breath. Confused, I walk to my office.

Some time passes, and I hear a knock on my door.

"Come in," I respond, still buried in my work. James, one of my colleagues, steps inside. "It's your turn now, Kaia."

I look up from my work, confused. "Turn for what?"

"To see the detectives," he says in an obvious tone. I'm still confused, looking at him in the doorway, then a lightbulb goes off. So Jack's dear wife had actually acted on her threat of involving the police. Well, this should be interesting, I think to myself as I walk toward the office.

I knock on Carla's office door and enter without waiting for a response. Seated at the desk is a slightly chubby man with a buzz cut, wearing a blue button-down shirt. He offers me a seat, and I accept graciously, giving him a charming smile.

"I'm Detective Boab," he says, introducing himself. "And that's my colleague, Detective Kent," he adds, gesturing to a man perched on the window sill. He looks to be about six feet tall, his jet-black hair gelled back, wearing gray pants and slacks. I offer him one of my charming smiles, and he glances at me for a brief moment, his gray eyes uninterested, before returning to his notepad. Never have I had a man blatantly disregard me, and admittedly, it bruises my ego. I push down the feeling and divert my attention back to Detective Boab.

Boab listens attentively as I speak, writing down my answers in a notebook. Meanwhile, Kent occasionally glances at me, his expression unreadable.

"Do you have any idea why we're here today?" Boab asks.

"Yes," I respond matter-of-factly. "You're here to investigate the disappearance of one of my colleagues."

"Great!" he responds. "What was your relationship with the said missing person?"

"He's a work colleague," I reply, "nothing special. I usually keep to myself here. I like to keep things professional."

"When was the last time you saw him?"

"That would be last week, Friday."

"Do you know anyone in this firm who might have a personal vendetta against him?"

I pause, as if giving myself some time to think. "No, none that I know of."

Detective Boab looks up from his notebook, his pen pausing mid-air. "Tell me more about your interactions with Mr. Ambrose. Did anything seem out of the ordinary in the days leading up to his disappearance?"

I pretend to think back, tapping my finger on the armrest. Honestly, nothing out of the usual stood out to me.

"Alright, that will be all, Miss...?"

"Nicolson," I respond.

"Very well, Miss Nicolson, thank you for your time. Enjoy the rest of your day."

"Thank you, you too."

I head back to my office and continue my mundane tasks until closing time. On the drive home, I replay the events of last Friday in my mind. The look on Jack's face, his screams—it still lingers in my memory. They'll never find him. Not the way I left things.