The Glass Ceiling
The air in the 40th floor of the Sterling-Vane tower was filtered, chilled, and devoid of any scent other than the faint, metallic tang of expensive air conditioning. Sarah stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, looking down at the yellow cabs of Manhattan. From this height, the people looked like ants, and the city looked like a circuit board. Sarah was a prodigy of numbers. At twenty-six, she...
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