In the fall of 2025, I worked in a high-rise corporate headquarters in downtown Houston, Texas. The building itself taught me the hierarchy. The higher you go, the more controlled everything becomes. Access changes. Space changes. Even the air feels different.

I lasted two months. That was long enough to understand the rules and short enough to leave before they became normal. I didn’t like the strict controls, the competition for recognition and promotions, or the way people learned to perform instead of speak plainly. I watched coworkers ignore the cleaning crew as they hauled trash past their desks. Sometimes they said “thank you” without looking up, as if the words were for themselves. I saw the small lies that kept things moving, the egos that made people arrogant, the quiet deals, the shifting alliances, and the corporate games people played to protect themselves. I watched how easily people were used, then pushed aside, then forgotten.

During a security briefing, the chief of security shared a story about a homeless man who had been found living inside the building for more than four months. I kept asking myself how that was possible, and what it would take to survive inside a place designed to track everyone.

That detail became the seed for the story. At first, the protagonist was a homeless man. Then I changed the character to a homeless woman. Eventually, the story evolved into Mara, a woman who works in the Tower café. Making her a barista did two things. It kept her close to the building’s routines and its people, and it made her easy to overlook, which is where the real tension begins.

It’s a tense, character-driven novel set inside a modern corporate tower. The story focuses on systems, power, and survival rather than spectacle. If you like stories that feel real and escalate because of human decisions, this is that kind of book.

Yes, but not in the flashy sense. The tension comes from policies, surveillance, hierarchy, and what happens when those systems start to fail. The danger is structural, not theatrical.

No, but readers who have worked in corporate environments tend to recognize the language, the hierarchy, and the pressure immediately. If you have ever felt invisible at work, you'll understand this story.

Mara is a barista who works in the Tower café. She is observant, capable, and deeply familiar with how the building actually functions. She survives by paying attention to what others ignore.

Yes, but not in a slogan-driven way. The women in this story are competent, practical, and often underestimated. Their strength comes from experience, judgment, and knowing when to act.

The Tower functions as its own character. It watches, categorizes, restricts, and protects itself. The story treats the building as an active force shaped by the systems inside it.

It builds steadily, then accelerates hard. The early chapters focus on routine and pressure. When events escalate, the pace shifts quickly into sustained, high-intensity action.

Very much so. The story explores what it means to be relied on but unnoticed, and how invisibility can be both protection and danger.

It sits between the two. The writing is controlled and intentional, but the story is driven by clear stakes and escalating consequences.

Readers who like grounded tension, realistic environments, and stories about systems and people colliding. Especially women who have navigated workplaces where competence doesn't always equal safety.

No. Like all my books, this book is written by me, Arthur Mills. Google search engine was used extensively during the drafting process to research corporate style jargon and workplace vocabulary so the Tower’s language, policies, and culture would feel accurate. That research supported realism in the corporate setting, but the story, characters, structure, and voice were written by me.

The Legend of Mara Flores is a linear story, but it's not a passive one.

Like all Branching Plot Books projects, it's designed to change based on who's reading it. The story doesn't tell readers what to think about the Tower, the system, or Mara’s choices. It presents events, pressure, and consequences, then leaves interpretation to the reader.

Some readers see a corporate thriller. Others see a story about labor, class, and invisibility. Some see a critique of modern systems. Others see a personal tragedy, or an act of quiet resistance. None of those readings are wrong.

Where earlier Branching Plot Books projects use multiple endings or interactive formats, The Legend of Mara Flores branches through perspective. The reader’s background, beliefs, and experiences shape how the story is understood, which characters are trusted, and what the ending means.

This book belongs in Branching Plot Books because it treats interpretation as part of the narrative. The story doesn't end on the final page. It continues in how readers argue about it, recognize themselves in it, and decide what they believe happened.