The Final Hour in Manhattan

The office was eerily quiet for a Thursday evening. Most people had already gone home, and those who remained worked in silence, their eyes glued to glowing screens. My corner office, once a source of pride, now felt like a tomb — a place where dreams had flourished and withered all at once.

It wasn’t supposed to end like this.

The journey had started twenty years ago when I first walked through the revolving doors of the building on Fifth Avenue. Back then, I was a wide-eyed intern, eager to impress, ready to sacrifice weekends and holidays for the promise of success. Over the years, I climbed the ladder, fighting for every rung, earning respect in a world that thrived on competition.

But everything began to change six months ago.

The merger was announced with great fanfare. Two financial titans joining forces to dominate the market — at least, that’s how the board pitched it. For those of us in the trenches, it meant uncertainty. Teams were reshuffled, entire departments dissolved overnight, and whispers of layoffs spread like wildfire.

I’d weathered storms before, but this one was different.

The first blow came when my team was scrutinized during a “performance review.” It was clear the new leadership wanted to trim costs, and our department was an easy target. I spent weeks preparing reports, crafting presentations, and defending the value we brought to the company. The stress was relentless.