The hold music was a soft, unobtrusive piano piece, but my mind was anything but calm. I paced the kitchen, glancing at the clock, watching the seconds tick by. Finally, the line clicked back to life.
“Mr. Thompson, I have Mr. Parker available to speak with you,” the receptionist said, her tone unchanged.
The voice that followed was deep, authoritative. “Mr. Thompson, thank you for holding. I understand you have questions about a document you received?”
“Yes, it’s just… I found it in my bag. I don’t understand how it got there or what it means,” I replied, my words tumbling out.
“I see. Could you perhaps come into the office? We can discuss the contents in person. It’s a sensitive matter,” Mr. Parker suggested, his voice carrying a weight that made my stomach tighten.
“Sure, I can be there tomorrow,” I agreed, jotting down the address he provided.
As I hung up, I felt a mix of relief and unease. There was something about the way Mr. Parker spoke that suggested this was more than just a clerical error. I needed answers, and it seemed like I was about to get them, whether I was ready or not.
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