Chapter 2: Shut Out and Shaken

Today was my fourth day at Summit Capital.

The receptionist knew me by name now. I showed up every morning, coffee in hand, chasing any sliver of opportunity. Persistence was half the hustle in America, after all.

She told me, just like before, that General Manager Harris wasn’t in.

She offered an apologetic smile, tapping her long nails on the desk, barely glancing away from her screen. She recited her line like a script.

But I knew he’d flown back early this morning to meet a big shot.

Rumor had it he’d landed at JFK before sunrise, ready to rub elbows with the city’s power players. I’d tracked his LinkedIn and even checked airport Instagram tags, desperate for a clue.

Summit Capital had pulled their investment a month ago—no warning, just a cold email.

The dominoes fell fast after that. Calls stopped. Meetings vanished. The money dried up overnight.

A few other investors bailed days later, shutting us out.

It was like I’d caught a startup plague. Phones went to voicemail, inboxes filled with polite brush-offs and silence.

I stood at the entrance, clutching our revised proposal.

The folder was thick with numbers, charts, and hope. My hands shook—part nerves, part caffeine.

This was our last shot—our bottom line.

I’d rewritten the pitch so many times it haunted my dreams. If this didn’t work, it was game over.

It rained last night, and the temperature dropped.

My shoes were still damp, the air biting. The smell of wet concrete clung to everything, seeping into my bones.

I rushed out this morning without breakfast or an extra coat.

Regret hit as a shiver crawled up my spine. My stomach rumbled, and I cursed myself for skipping even a granola bar.

Now my back trembled from low blood sugar—I could barely stand.

My vision blurred. I steadied myself against the marble wall, breathing deep, willing my body not to give out before I even got in the door.

Suddenly, the elevator doors opened and General Manager Harris strode in with his entourage.

He moved with purpose, assistants trailing. For a second, hope sparked—maybe this was my chance.

I hurried over and pressed the proposal into his hands.

My voice trembled but I was determined. I forced eye contact, praying he’d read even the first page.

"Mr. Harris, please give us another chance. This is our revised partnership proposal—"

I tried to sound confident, but he barely paused. The group swept around me like I was invisible.

"Move aside."

He brushed me off, not even pretending to care. The rejection landed like a punch to the gut.

Mr. Harris waved me away, eyes locked on the entrance.

He was already moving on, mind elsewhere. I felt like static—easily ignored.

"Mr. Harris, we’re sincerely hoping to work together, please—"

I trailed after him, but an assistant shoved me back. "Where are the security guards? Letting just anyone in!"

The push was rough. I stumbled, crashing into the wall, my proposal spilling everywhere.

I hit the wall, suddenly dizzy and weak, and collapsed by the entrance.

The world spun. I blinked at the ceiling, fighting to stay conscious, humiliation stinging worse than pain.

That’s when I saw a black stretch Lincoln parked outside.

It gleamed under the streetlights—a car you only see in movies, signaling someone powerful had arrived.

Mr. Harris hurried to open the rear door, bowing and grinning. "Derek, your visit today is a complete surprise."

He was all charm, voice slick as oil, every inch the sycophant. I watched, barely believing my eyes.

The car door opened, and a pair of custom leather shoes appeared in my line of sight.

They were polished to a mirror shine, probably cost more than my rent. My heart pounded.

Derek stepped out.

He moved like he owned the building—maybe he did. He didn’t glance my way, just pure business and ice.

He strode to the entrance, cold and commanding, untouchable.

People melted out of his way. The lobby fell silent, all energy sucked into his orbit.

Everyone made way for him, trailing to the elevators.

He was top dog, and everyone else scrambled to keep up, whispering behind his back.

He never looked at me. Not once.

Not even a flicker. It hurt, but I kept my chin high.

I struggled to my feet.

My knees buckled, and the marble floor felt ice-cold through my thin flats. I blinked, willing myself not to pass out in front of the security guard.

A security guard hurried over. "You’d better leave now, or they’ll dock my pay."

He was young, apologetic. I saw he hated this, but rules were rules. He shoved my scattered proposal into my arms.

My papers were trampled, stained, the pages torn and smeared with boot prints.

Some were ripped, ink smudged by a wet shoe. I swallowed my tears as I gathered them up, one by one.

The guard shoved them at me again. "Go on, go on. Don’t come back."

His voice was low, pleading. I nodded, hugging the battered folder to my chest.

I looked toward the elevators, where Mr. Harris personally pressed the button for Derek.

He was all smiles, eager to please. The contrast stung—how quickly people forgot you when you weren’t useful anymore.

Derek stepped in and vanished from view.

He didn’t look back. The elevator doors slid shut, closing me out of his world.

The lobby fell silent again, the earlier chaos erased.

I stood there, invisible. Life moved on, as if I’d never existed at all.

Just then, my phone rang. I gathered my messy contracts and answered.

I fumbled the phone, juggling papers and hope. "Maya" flashed on the screen—my most loyal teammate, always checking in.

A careful, gentle voice came through. "Boss, how did it go?"

She sounded so hopeful, so nervous. I pictured her hunched over her laptop, waiting for good news.

I leaned against the wall, forcing a smile. "Of course I met Mr. Harris. He’s reconsidering the partnership."

I lied through my teeth, my voice light. Maya didn’t need my panic—she needed a leader who sounded in control.

Cheers erupted on the other end.

I heard whoops and applause in the background. For a second, I almost believed it myself.

I added quickly, "I have to go—Mr. Harris is waiting to discuss details."

I cleared my throat, not trusting myself to say more. My pride wouldn’t let me crack, not yet.

"Okay, boss, we’ll wait for your good news!"

Her faith lifted me, even as guilt gnawed at my gut. I hung up before she could ask more.

After hanging up, I steadied myself on the railing and walked to the grocery store across the street for juice.

The city was too bright, too cold. I ducked into a 7-Eleven, grabbed the cheapest orange juice and some bread rolls. The cashier gave me a tired smile.

I drank it in one go, the dizziness fading.

The sugar hit like a jolt. I took a few deep breaths, eyes stinging.

Biting into bread, I browsed second-hand housing listings, checking what my grandma’s condo might fetch.

I sat on the curb, phone on my knee, scrolling Zillow and Redfin. The numbers swam, but I did the math over and over.

Recent sales in the complex were about $320,000—not enough to close our gap, but it could keep us alive a little longer.

I ran the numbers, subtracting taxes and realtor fees. It wouldn’t fix everything, but it might buy us a few more paychecks and one last shot.

After finishing the last bite, I brushed off the crumbs and called a real estate agent.

I wiped my mouth, bracing myself. The phone felt heavy as I dialed an old contact.

"Hello, I have a place I need to sell quickly. Price is negotiable."

My voice was steady, but inside I was begging. My last safety net, about to vanish.