Sienna's boss called her into his office on a Wednesday morning in mid-December without explanation.
Gerald Richardson was usually warm. Friendly. The kind of senior partner who remembered birthdays and asked about your weekend and genuinely cared about work-life balance. Today he looked uncomfortable. Almost apologetic. The expression of someone who had to deliver bad news and wasn't sure how it would land.
"Sit down, Sienna," he said.
She sat. Felt her stomach tighten. "What's going on?"
"I received a call yesterday afternoon." Gerald folded his hands on his desk. Professional. Distant. The version of himself he used in difficult conversations. "From Dante Moretti's legal team. They're claiming conflict of interest with your work on the Henderson account."
Sienna's stomach dropped. "What kind of conflict?"
