Three to Go

Morning light cut across the glass walls of Roy's office, clean and bright and entirely wasted on the man who usually occupied it.

Tom leaned back in Roy's chair, polished shoes resting comfortably on the desk blotter. The angle gave him a pleasant view of the hallway through the half-open blinds. Hands folded behind his head. Posture relaxed. Ownership implied.

Roy's desk was disappointingly tidy. No framed photos. No clutter. No personality. Even in absence, the man was bland.

Footsteps approached.

Right on schedule.

Roy appeared in the doorway, briefcase in hand, shoulders already tight before he fully registered who was sitting in his chair.

Silence stretched.

"What are you doing in my office?" Roy asked at last.

Not a greeting. Not even an attempt at civility.

Tom smiled lazily. "Good morning to you too."

Shoes remained on the desk.

"It's Thursday," Tom continued, as though discussing the weather. "Almost been a week."

Roy didn't move further into the room. Jaw worked once. "I know what day it is."

"Do you?" Tom tilted his head slightly. "Because the clock's ticking. Thought I'd check in. See if you've got your ducks in a row."

A flicker passed over Roy's face. Anger, swallowed down so quickly it almost looked like indigestion.

"I'm working on it," Roy said carefully.

Working on it.

Tom lowered his feet to the floor and leaned forward, forearms resting on the desk. "Working on it," he echoed. "That's vague."

"You gave me a month."

"And I'm being generous."

A beat.

Roy stepped fully inside, closing the door behind him. Not slammed. Just shut. Controlled. Always controlled.

"Why are you doing this?" Roy asked.

No heat in the words. That was the interesting part. Not rage. Not threats. Just a quiet, almost exhausted confusion.

Tom studied him. Same man from high school. Slightly thicker around the middle now. Hair thinning at the temples. Soft eyes. The kind of face people trusted for no good reason.

"Because you have everything I want," Tom said plainly.

Roy blinked.

"What are you talking about?" Roy seemed confused. "Look at you! You're tall, good looking, you've got a good job..."

"But I don't have your job," To cut in. "You don't make any sense. I should be the one on top, the rising star. You... you're just a... loser who hasn't figured it out yet."

"That's not a reason."

"It is to me." Tom stood slowly, smoothing down the front of his tailored jacket. Navy today. Perfect lines. Perfect fit. "You coast. You don't push. You don't sharpen your elbows. And somehow you end up department head. Next in line for director."

"I worked for that."

A laugh slipped out before Tom could stop it. "You think I didn't?"

The space between them tightened.

"Life doesn't hand out fairness," Tom continued, voice lowering. "A guy like you shouldn't be ahead of me. It's a glitch. I'm correcting it."

Roy stared at him, something wounded flickering behind the restraint. "So you ruin my career."

"I don't ruin it," Tom corrected smoothly. "You resign. Personal reasons. Everyone moves on. Clean. Simple."

"And you step into the vacuum."

Tom's smile widened. "Finally, he gets it."

A pulse beat visibly in Roy's neck. Anger was there now, just barely contained. Hands curled slightly at his sides.

"You forged documents," Roy said.

"Allegedly."

"They look real."

"They are real enough."

Another silence. Thicker this time.

Tom stepped aside, gesturing toward the chair. "Go on. Sit. It's still yours. For now."

Roy hesitated, then moved past him.

As they crossed, Tom leaned in just enough for his voice to brush Roy's ear.

"Tick tock."

Roy didn't respond. He lowered himself into the chair without looking at Tom, hands settling on the desk like he was steadying himself against an unseen current.

A shadow moved across the doorway.

Helena Roberts stood just outside the glass, sharp as ever, expression unreadable.

Her gaze moved from Tom to Roy and back again. She took in the posture. The tension. The air.

"Everything okay?" she asked, opening the door and poking her head in.

Roy looked up. Composed. Professional mask sliding neatly into place. "It's fine."

Tom flashed an easy grin. "Yeah. Just talking about the good old days. See you 'round, Roy."

Helena's eyes lingered a second longer on Roy's face. Measuring.

Then she moved on.

Tom paused at the threshold, glancing back once more. Roy was already staring at his monitor, shoulders squared, jaw tight. Still trying to look in control. Still pretending this was salvageable.

The hallway swallowed Tom as he walked away, satisfaction warming his chest.

A week down.

Three to go.

Plenty of time for a man to realise he was already finished.