Jenny hesitated for a moment. This thing wasn't cheap.
Only editors or high-ranking secretaries would use one. She quickly chased after him upstairs.
But the man was fast; he seemed to have already entered the building and soon disappeared.
Jenny thought, since there was a name on it, the mail clerks would definitely know who it belonged to. She could just leave it with them.
So she continued up the stairs, crossed the bridge connecting Dawling Building and the printing department, and, looking innocent, exchanged a few words with the doorman at the entrance.
Workers often had to enter the office building to deliver things; signing in was enough. It wasn't considered roaming around.
Jenny smoothly entered the building and reached the second-floor lobby. The mail clerks' office was on the left side of the lobby.
The brightly lit office had walnut floors, ivory wallpaper, colorful plush carpets, and famous prints and antique black-and-white photographs hanging everywhere.
The corridor was lined with beautiful cabinets full of hardcover bestsellers and storage cabinets stuffed with newspapers for employees to access anytime.
Crystal lamps refracted the gaslight. The place was warm, and the air carried only a faint scent from periodic freshening and the smell of ink.
At this hour, the editorial cubicles of the telegraph department on both sides of the lobby were still bustling with people, and the hydraulic elevator was slowly passing this floor.
It was busy here, with the constant clatter of typewriters. Clerks hurried through the corridors, arms full of documents, but not a trace of fatigue showed on their faces.
Jenny observed carefully, missing no corner. Though the environment was different from her past life, the atmosphere was exactly the same.
Her heart beat a little faster.
She knew that this was the busiest time for the telegraph department.
The editors of the New York City morning newspapers were preparing to print the early morning edition. If there was urgent news, they'd be frantic.
But every clerk or secretary here earned at least four times her weekly salary.
Standing still, she felt she was in the way. She pulled back her wandering gaze and hurried toward the mail clerks' office.
She was eager to do a good deed, but in truth, she also wanted to take a look inside the building.
After looking around, Jenny went to the receptionists' window. She found a kind-looking middle-aged woman and handed her the pencil.
"Hello, I'm from the printing department. I found this downstairs. It must have been dropped by some secretary or editor."
Hearing this, the receptionist turned, took the item, examined it, and suddenly stood up.
"Benjamin Rog, secretary to Mr. Zweit Dawling?"
The older receptionist at the next desk, who was filling out envelopes, glanced over.
"Which Mr. Dawling? The one who returned from the Berlin office last month?"
Dawling Publishing Company was a family business, accepting no outside capital. It had grown to three generations, with a large family and many offspring.
Partners named Dawling were everywhere, each managing major departments.
"Yes, he's now the chief editor of the Literature Department and was just promoted to partner. His secretary is Benjamin Rog."
Jenny understood. That man was indeed a big shot—a high-ranking secretary.
The receptionist turned to her with a smile.
"Don't worry, I'll take this upstairs myself."
Jenny nodded and turned to leave.
She had just rejected John, and going back to her uncle's house would be another tough battle.
But as soon as she took two steps, she suddenly heard hurried footsteps in the corridor she had just passed.
Two people came out, one after the other.
The man in front was younger, wearing a shirt and vest with sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He looked like an office worker, carrying a large stack of documents while adjusting his glasses and protecting the file bag in his hand.
He kept turning back, trying to persuade the middle-aged man chasing him.
"You've been fired. The editor-in-chief won't take you back. You'd better find another way out."
The man following him wore a wool coat, empty-handed, apparently coming from outside.
"Give me one more chance! I had nothing to do with Capson Tangni's embezzlement and bribery. I'm innocent!"
"Frank, we're old acquaintances. Help me out!"
Seeing Frank unmoved, he went around and dropped to his knees before Frank.
He burst into tears, recounting how much he had contributed to Century Weekly over the years and how he had fully cooperated with the investigation for the past two weeks.
"Frank, even if you could just let me explain myself to the editor-in-chief!"
"I can't make decisions for you on my own. The interviews for editors and assistants are done. There are only clerk positions left. Look for another opportunity."
Frank shook his head reluctantly, though he seemed sympathetic. He waved for two messengers at the stairway.
The messengers quickly escorted the pleading middle-aged man away and out.
Commotion spread nearby. People in the surrounding editorial cubicles opened their doors to gawk.
Jenny also paused, curious, scratching her head.
The mail clerks behind her started whispering about who the entangled man was.