A building full of lives, each one quietly ending.
The building has always stood.
For decades, its walls have held the hum of phones, the shuffle of papers, the uneasy laughter between cubicles. People come and go - interns chasing futures, managers clinging to titles, security guards and janitors who know the place better than anyone. Each of them believes they are moving forward, upward, somewhere. But the building knows better.
Day after day, the hours tick past: arrivals and departures, flirtations in the lobby, unspoken rivalries, the loneliness between meetings. Small triumphs and quiet failures stack up like files in a forgotten cabinet. And when the office finally closes its doors for good, all of it - the work, the secrets, the lives that briefly touched one another - will dissolve into silence.
Part workplace novel, part elegy, The Grave at the End is a haunting portrait of ordinary lives caught in the machinery of corporate routine. Through security guards, interns, salesmen, custodians, and clerks, the novel reveals the quiet truth at the heart of work: that nothing lasts, and that even the busiest office is only a monument to endings.
The building remains. The people do not.