Mazeik. Hateful Tuesday

Every morning at the Star Dreams business center began the same way: with the shouts of Ilya Ivanovich Koryakov.

— Kolomiets, where the fuck are the reports?! Quick, get me some coffee!

The voice echoed through the corridors, causing workers to flinch and managers to scurry behind their monitors. Everyone knew: if Koryakov was yelling, it was Tuesday. And Tuesdays weren't easy for Denis Kolomiets. He was the secretary, after all.

In the small staff kitchen, the coffee machine gurgled, dispensing thick, black espresso—strong, no sugar, no milk. This was exactly how Ilya Ivanovich liked it. If he liked anything at all today. Denis winced as he broke off a piece of a chocolate chip cookie. Sighing, he picked up the cup and checked it—no stains, no streaks. Perfect.

As the elevator car hurtled upward to the 50th floor, Denis caught the glances of his colleagues. Some smiled, others nodded suggestively: "To the boss again? "Yes, again.

It wasn't that he was any special employee—just a secretary, delivering papers and coffee. The blond man was the one in charge. For some reason, he was the one who stayed in Koryakov's office the longest. Sometimes for an hour. Sometimes for three. And once, for the whole night. But no one knew about it.

The door opened with a soft click. Koryakov sat at a massive oak desk, buried in documents.