Victoria Holland had a certain flare to her being—something men wanted more than life itself. She wore black pumps with a tight knee-high skirt. Her hair was perfectly straight and her eyes were as dark as coal. She could say something to one person and everyone in a thirty-foot radius would feel the intensity of her voice. She was truly something to behold.
Unfortunately for her, she caught the eye of one very serious and demanding executive, Isaak Wolfe. He was her match if she ever had one. His eyes were sharp and his demeanor unsettling. He wore navy blue suits with subtle ties, had a loose hair cut that never seemed to get out of control, and his walk was something other men envied.
Up on the ninth floor where Isaak and Victoria worked, most days were hectic. It was a business of money, and everyone wanted some. Isaak would be at his desk each morning before anyone else entered the floor. And he was always the last to leave. He was hungry for success, taking every advantage he could to climb high. That was when he truly first noticed Victoria.
With her mind set on an office two floors up, she had recently begun to mimic his work schedule. She was a clear threat, and he knew he had to remove her before other executives noticed.
On a Thursday night in November, after everyone in the office had left, Victoria sat at her desk and heard something strange coming from the office to the left. She listened patiently as a soft knocking crept over her ears. Before long, it was loud and frequent, frightening Victoria enough to make her stand from her seat. Then it stopped.
She waited, listened with confusion, and then decided to go to the office to the left and find the source.
The door creaked open slowly, and inside the room was dark. She reached for the light as thunder roared in the sky above. The fluorescent fixture above her flickered and then went out with the rest of the electronics. Rain fell hard and soon lightning pierced the atmosphere and lit the windows aglow. Victoria left quickly in the dark and went to her desk. She grabbed her things and headed for the stairwell as she heard something behind.
Pencils fell to the floor in a bold clash, rolling across the tile as the thunder continued overhead. Victoria’s breath quickened, her pulse carried to her throat. She stepped backwards and reached for the stairwell door as her eyes kept to the noise of the office. With each pierce of lightning, she could see a figure coming to life.
Before she could open the door and escape, the figure grabbed her by the blouse and pressed her to the window. Several sharp intrusions of a letter opener—a favorite device of Isaak Wolfe—cut deep into Victoria’s lungs. She gasped as she felt her chest—blood collecting in her palms. Without the strength to run, she reached to the glass window and tried to garner attention. But being so far from the street, no one could see her struggle.
Victoria slid to the floor and closed her eyes there in the shadows before seeing the face of her attacker. No one discovered who the murderer was, and no one confessed. And the letter opener, nestled into the top drawer of Isaak Wolfe’s desk, will never tell.