She was walking through the lobby, looking out at the darkness towards the river, when the voices outside started getting louder. She stopped still. There was increased movement too, people pressing closer towards the doors, and there were flickering lights, low down on the concourse in front of the building. What was going on? She almost turned away, almost went for the back door that only the staff used. But no – she had walked through the rotating front doors every day that she’d worked here, and she wasn’t going to stop now. The doors slowly began to turn as she stepped towards them, the voices got louder as the air got colder, and though she instinctively wanted to hold her arms up to protect herself from the crowd, she did exactly the opposite. She held her head high and stepped out of the building.

‘What are you doing here?’ She hoped there was authority in her tone.

‘It’s her,’ a voice shouted from near the front of the group, and they began surging forwards, all of them, women and men, teenagers, City workers, people in jeans and suits and dresses, with banners and signs and—

‘Why has the pouch gone wrong?’

‘What happened to—’

‘Have you been lying?’

Some of them looked like journalists, some students, phones thrust forward to record her reply over the shouts. There were cameras too, held up to video the scene.

‘Step back,’ she said, using her calmest voice, her most soothing voice. ‘Please, you need to let me pass now.’

She’d been pushed beyond the doors; behind her was the fresh panel of glass – there was nowhere to go but forwards through the crowd. More people were arriving all the time, she could see a group crossing the bridge and heading her way.

‘You have to answer our questions.’

It was a young woman, touching her arm, her phone held up.

‘You can make an appoint—’

‘I tried that already. This afternoon, after the crash. Your security wouldn’t let me in.’

‘But there’s no secur …’

The car, the smashed glass – she had called in security today.

‘They wouldn’t let any of us in!’

‘I’m … There’s nothing I can say right now.’

The director tried to push her way through the crowd, but every time she moved more bodies pressed into her, their questions shouted above the ruckus, all of their eyes staring at her, demanding answers she didn’t have.

‘Let me through.’

Her arms were up now, trying to protect her face as she made her way forwards. And then someone grabbed her. They grabbed her hand away from her face, and held it, and tried to pull her closer, and she was going to have to defend herself, to push them away and run and—

‘Please,’ a voice said.