Jane - Goldberg

Jane looked at her computer screen. A spreadsheet was open, demanding her attention for the morning’s board meeting. Hundreds of millions of dollars in assets were balanced in those cells. If she left now, the anchor would drop, and the Goldberg ship might veer off course.

Jane reached the elevator and pressed the button for the garage. She felt the weight of the brass key in her pocket, a secret heat against her hip. jane goldberg

"No," Jane said as the doors began to slide shut. "I'm just going to go find someone I lost." Jane looked at her computer screen

She didn't pack a suitcase. She took her coat, her car keys, and the brass key. As she walked past the receptionist, who offered a standard "Goodnight, Ms. Goldberg," Jane didn't offer her usual polite nod. If she left now, the anchor would drop,

Jane Goldberg sat at her mahogany desk, the kind that felt too large for a woman who spent most of her life trying to be small. Outside her window, the Chicago skyline was beginning to blur into a smear of amber and violet, but Jane’s eyes were fixed on a single, yellowed envelope. It had no return address, only her name written in a script so familiar it made her chest ache.

The key was heavy, brass, and cold. Taped to it was a small scrap of paper with a single line of coordinates.