I collapsed at work and struck the floor, but no one moved to help me. My boss simply said, “She wants attention.” The room remained frozen while precious seconds passed. Then someone screamed, sirens arrived outside, and a paramedic dropped beside me. What he noticed made him turn directly toward my boss.

I remember the conference room beginning to tilt before I remember hitting the floor.

One moment, I was standing beside the projection screen, explaining why our quarterly inventory totals did not match the warehouse records.

The next, intense pressure tightened beneath my ribs.

My vision narrowed until the people around the polished table became pale, blurry shapes.

I reached for the nearest chair.

My hand missed.

The side of my face struck the carpet first, followed by my shoulder and knees.

Someone gasped.

No one came closer.

Through the roar inside my ears, I heard my boss, Martin Hale, sigh with irritation.

“She wants attention,” he said. “Don’t reward this.”

I tried to move, but my body would not respond.

I could not lift my head.

I could not tell them that I could barely breathe.

It felt as though something enormous had trapped my chest beneath its weight.

Shoes shifted around me.

A chair rolled backward.

Still, no one touched me.

Martin kept talking.

“Claire has been dramatic all week. Give her a minute.”

The seconds stretched into something dark and endless.

I heard my coworker Jenna whisper that my lips were turning blue.

Martin ordered her to sit down.

Then someone screamed.

It was Nathan from accounting.

He had crouched several feet away and noticed what everyone else had missed.

“She isn’t breathing!”

The room suddenly erupted into movement.

Jenna called 911.

Nathan tried to remember how to perform CPR, but Martin grabbed his shoulder.

“Don’t touch her,” Martin warned. “The company could be liable.”

Nathan sh0ved him aside and pressed both hands against my chest.

By the time the sirens reached the building, I could no longer separate one voice from another.

All I felt was vi:0lent pressure against my ribs and the rough carpet scraping my cheek whenever my body shifted.

Paramedics rushed into the room carrying a cardiac monitor and a red medical bag.

One of them, a broad-shouldered man named Daniel Ruiz, dropped beside me.

“No pulse,” he said.

He cut open my blouse, attached adhesive pads to my chest, and ordered everyone to move back.

The shock lifted my body from the floor.

Nothing happened.

Nathan resumed compressions while Daniel prepared another shock.

A second paramedic forced air into my lungs.

After the third sh0ck, the monitor finally showed a weak rhythm.

Daniel stared at the screen before looking around the conference room.

“How long was she down?”

No one answered.

Jenna began crying.

“Maybe nine minutes. We didn’t know what to do.”

Daniel’s expression changed.

Slowly, he lifted his eyes toward Martin.

Then recognition sharpened his face.

“You,” Daniel said.

Martin stepped backward.

Daniel rose, still holding one bloodstained glove above my chest.

“I trained your management team in CPR six weeks ago,” he said. “You passed the certification test.”

The room fell completely silent.

Daniel pointed toward the glass cabinet near the exit.

“And that is an AED.”

All color disappeared from Martin’s face.

“You knew exactly what to do,” Daniel said. “So why did you leave her on the floor?”

PART 2