"Hey. You, hold it right there," Braddock's voice barked, the harsh sound shattering the lobby's pristine quiet and echoing off the vaulted ceiling.
Marcus paused, his thumb hovering over the screen of his tablet. He turned slowly, his expression entirely unruffled. Decades of navigating hostile boardrooms, securing venture capital when no one believed in him, and fighting corporate espionage had immunized him against petty aggression. He had faced down ruthless billionaires; a jumpy rent-a-cop did not intimidate him.
"Can I help you, Officer?" Marcus’s deep, resonant baritone filled the space. It was calm, polite, yet layered with an expectation of respect.
Braddock stepped out from behind the massive mahogany reception desk, his posture rigid, his right hand falling instinctively to rest on his heavy duty belt, inches from his taser. "Where do you think you’re going?" he demanded, closing the distance between them with aggressive strides.
"I’m going to my office," Marcus replied smoothly. He turned his attention back to the turnstile, preparing to swipe his wrist over the biometric reader.
"Step away from the gate!" Braddock shouted, moving swiftly to physically block the path. He puffed out his chest, attempting to physically dominate the space. "The delivery entrance is around the back. Loading dock. Read the signs."
Marcus took a slow sip of his coffee, lowering the mug to face the officer squarely. He maintained eye contact, his gaze piercing. "I’m not a delivery driver, and I have no need for the loading dock. I’m going up to the 42nd floor."
Braddock scoffed, a wet, patronizing sound. He dragged his eyes up and down Marcus’s attire with visible disdain, taking in the cotton fabric and the lack of a visible corporate badge. "The 42nd floor is executive access only, pal. And let me tell you, you don’t look like an executive. Let’s try this again, and don't lie to me. Who are you here to see?"
"I am here to work. My name is Marcus Sterling," Marcus stated, his voice steady, refusing to elevate his volume to match the officer's agitation. "If you look at the digital directory behind you, or the bronze dedication plaque on the wall to your right, you’ll see my name."
Braddock refused to look. He didn't even turn his head. He outright ignored the massive bronze plaque—which featured a detailed relief carving of Marcus’s face—mounted just ten feet away.