“Don’t be so sure,” I said. “It seems to me that the intense heat from the fires could weaken the entire structure.” A short time later, I was sadly proven correct.
Just then, a piece of floating paper pressed flatly against our office window. The edges were charred dark brown. It was a piece of company letterhead that said “Marsh USA.” Everyone let out a gasp at the sight of it; Marsh was on the 95th floor of the north tower.
I called my mom again. “I just wanted to hear your voice,” I said. Nothing comforts me like my mom’s voice. She has always been my rock. While talking to her, a friend called on my second line. He was audibly shaken.
And then one of the geologists in my office yelled, “The south tower is falling!” With a rush of panic and adrenaline, I yelled to my friend on the phone, “I gotta go! The building’s falling!” and again to my mom, “I gotta go! The building’s falling!”
I started running toward the exit when I passed another analyst in my office who, with tears in her eyes, asked, “What’s going on around here?”
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Letters
