Dave entered the office nervously, but the moment he caught my gaze, he calmed down and began in a restrained tone:
— Mirey, right? — he asked, or rather confirmed. Last time, we weren't really introduced. — You're new here.
He stepped closer and leaned on the desk with his hands, looking me in the eyes:
— Let's make a deal: if you find any mistakes in my projects or work — show them to me first, and I will handle them. You don't need to run to Theron every time. He has enough on his plate already. Agreed?
There was no kindness in his eyes. Only rage. Pretended courtesy — enough to make me sick.
Apparently, alongside the risk of ending up in prison, I had acquired problems with the unhinged. And one more — in the form of a younger brother. Which was far worse than a hysterical girl.
I rubbed my temples with my fingers.
— I hear you.
It was the only thing I could manage to say to avoid making trouble for myself.
— Not through Hilda. Not through Ostin. —
I noticed a holster with a gun peeking from beneath his unbuttoned jacket.
— My office is on the thirty-fifth floor. I hope we'll work well together.
There was a clear note of warning in his voice.
Should I argue with him now? I don't think so. My current assignments have nothing to do with him. At least, I hope so.
Which is why agreement was the only logical way out of this conversation.
— Fine. — I nodded approvingly, but did not avert my gaze. That seemed to irritate him even more.
Without saying goodbye, Dave left and slammed the door.
And I exhaled.
"Gun." — It only hit me now: I had stepped into serious trouble.
I rubbed my temples again.
— All right. The harder the task, the more fun it is to solve.
I encouraged myself with this pitiful, embellished line and returned to going through the papers.
For a moment — just for a moment — I missed my old job.
Vel, for all that he was a scoundrel,
at least there had been no drama and no threat to my life there.
---
Days and weeks passed. I fully settled into the work of an ordinary inspector. My office was gradually being buried under millions of documents, which I put in order. On a regular basis I spoke only with Ostin. I found out where his office was and sometimes stopped by to get missing documents. Everything seemed ordinary. Even calm. But in a couple of days I had to submit my report, and I still hadn't started on the contract assignment.
I spent a long time thinking, reading everything I could find online about the owner of the jewelry company. A small idea emerged. Not fully formed, but intriguing. To check it, I needed more data on VECS — more precisely, access to documents that I most likely had no right to even see. So, buying coffee in the morning on my way to the office, I decided to soften Ostin up and try to discreetly draw what I needed out of him. The task was set, and I had to solve it.
Approaching the building from the main entrance — unusual for me — I suddenly spotted Ostin. He was also heading to the entrance. Perfect timing.
— Mirey? — he greeted me with surprise when I walked toward him and blocked his path.
— Coffee, — I held out one of the cups with his name on it.
He grimaced. I had forgotten that Ostin was almost like me. Which meant he immediately recognized it as a bribe. But he took the coffee anyway.
— Missing some documents for verification again?
I liked Ostin. Not in appearance — not truly. But in feeling. His rationality, calm, composure. His soft, measured voice. Tall, about twenty-nine, well-kept fair hair, glasses, a dark gray suit. We were almost mirrors — except I wore glasses only at home and only when I worked or read for too long. Perhaps, if I hadn't forgotten how to trust people or love, I might have asked him out. Though someone like him surely either had many women or one — and for a long time.
The name sounded familiar.
— Amy Chon? — I tried to remember from where.
— Theron's new beloved, — he clarified.
Right. In the very beginning, Derek had said something about her. About the "princess" and her flawless reputation. It hadn't seemed important then. Now — even less so.
— Listen, I have a very delicate request, — I returned to the point. Conversations about the princess would get me nowhere.
— Come on. We'll talk in my office.
We went up without speaking. Coffee in hand, each lost in our own thoughts. Silence hung between us. We were both comfortable in it. Neither of us liked excess.
In his office, everything was in its place. Ostin set down his things, sat, and said nothing. He waited. Patiently. I stood by the door. Couldn't bring myself to start. Rehearsed the phrasing in my head. Would I cross a line if I said it aloud?
— This concerns the contract assignment, — I finally said. — I studied the materials about the owner and may have an idea. But I need a list of assets. Not financial reports, but collections, real estate. Anything that could be connected to VECS or to Theron personally.
After that, I fell silent. The request was more serious than mere receipts. And we both knew it.
— Not sure… But I'll ask today, — he crossed his arms over his chest. — What exactly are you looking for?
— If I tell you — it won't be interesting anymore, — I tried to keep it light, but I knew the boundary had been crossed.
His face didn't change. The familiar "time for you to get back to work" expression appeared on him faster than on anyone else.
— Come after lunch. I'll give you an answer, — he said calmly, turning his attention to the papers.
— You're the best, — I said and slipped out quietly.
...
Up until lunch, I finished the expense report. And unfortunately discovered that sixty-five percent of the total had simply vanished. The money had gone nowhere. I was now the one who would list, by name, those who had pocketed it. Only one task remained — the contract. I had already started a draft, but without the asset data, it remained incomplete.
Normally, I didn't go out for lunch. But today I felt like walking to the café next door. On the way back, I decided to enter through the main entrance — faster to get to Ostin.
For the first time, I really looked at the people in the building.
Vel's staff had been mostly women — young, well-dressed, too alike. Here it was different. The gender distribution was even. But the women were of different ages and styles, though all were too well-groomed. Made up. As if for display.
I glanced at my suit.
"Maybe I should freshen up the color a bit," flashed through my mind.
Too much free time. Idle thoughts creep in when you're not busy.
I entered the building and saw a group of security guards coming down the hallway toward me. Five or six men. Behind them — Amy and Theron. He offered her his arm. She held onto him. They walked in perfect synchrony. Impressive.
He — tall, composed, black suit, black shirt, black tie.
She — in a long white dress with sleeves to the elbow. Elegant. Without ostentation. Everything about her screamed "special."
For a moment, I felt envy. Not for him. For the fact that for her, they would tear down bridges, clear streets, and even restructure companies. If needed — they would use anyone. There was something absolute in it.
I froze. A question flashed through my mind — greet them or walk past? I was ordinary. A worker. He — was not.
"Don't think you're special," came Liana's words back to me.
I passed the guards, heading to the elevator.
And just then Ostin came toward me, adjusting something in his briefcase.
— I was just coming to you, — he glanced at me briefly, then back at his papers.
— Mirey, I have to leave with Theron. Go to Hilda. She'll give you everything you asked for.
I didn't believe it at once. They approved it?
I took him by the wrist, gave it a little shake.
— Ostin, you're the best. — Second time today.
But at that moment, his face changed. He was looking somewhere behind me. I turned. Theron. Standing by the car, seeing Amy off. And looking. At Ostin. Coldly, without a word.
I realized I was holding him up.
— Sorry. — I stepped back. — Sorry.
— It's fine. Go to Hilda, — Ostin repeated. But his voice was uncertain. Something had changed. I felt it instantly. What — I didn't know. And, truthfully, I didn't want to.
Ostin hesitated for a second, then straightened and walked off with his usual, steady stride. I headed to Hilda through the service elevator.
For almost the entire rest of the day, I studied the assets. And I think — I found what I needed. Suzuki Kichiro. Owner of a family jewelry brand known for refinement and luxury. Likely what had caught Theron's interest. But after his son's death — as the articles said — Suzuki lost interest. Management passed to a manager. The brand began to lose ground. Its uniqueness waned.
Suzuki often visited Chicago. The city where his son had died.
And that was exactly where Theron had a villa — in Japanese style, bought as a work of art.
According to the reports, no one lived there. It was part of a collection. Personal or corporate — unclear. But significant.
I decided this was the best thing we could offer if he truly wanted that company. I calculated the cost, drafted a proposal. And was about to go home when Hilda entered the office.
— Theron is waiting for you with the report, — without a greeting. Without explanation.
We had already seen each other today. But her tone was entirely different.
— Now? — I was surprised. Began gathering my laptop, papers, calculations. — I thought the report was scheduled for two days from now.
— It's Theron's order. I can't add anything.
I followed her out. My head — a noise. Something had gone wrong? Had I crossed a line, digging into his property? Had he decided I was getting too comfortable? Or had he just… decided to check on me? He wasn't the kind of man to do something spontaneously. Which meant all this was planned. Or — a warning.
Hilda led me into the office.
I sat at the edge of the table. Exactly as on the first day. Spread out the reports. Opened my laptop. Stared at the screen. He knew I was there. Didn't react. Kept writing. Calmly. With intention.
More than fifteen minutes passed. I didn't look at him. He — didn't look at me. The screen went dark — I touched a key. Again and again. The silence had gone on too long to be accidental.
— I take it the report is ready, — he said.
The voice was not just cold. It was alien. Dry, short. Spoken with effort, as if he already knew he would not like the conversation.
— Yes, — I answered. Without hesitation. Without any attempt to soften it.
He rose. Slowly.
Came closer.
Took the report.
Flipped through it.
Without interest. Without words. As though he already knew everything that would be in it.
— The names?
— Last page.
He didn't even nod. Put the report back.
Took off his jacket. Threw it onto the desk. Turned to me.
— You've grown close with Ostin.
It didn't sound like a question. And not like an accusation.
It sounded like a verdict.
I raised my eyes. He was standing there. Calmly. But in that calm, there was something wrong.
— We work together. You allowed me to go to him. I just…
— What I saw today — is not a working relationship, — he cut me off. His voice sharpened.
I felt my breath shorten.
My hands stayed on my knees. I didn't clench my fingers. I showed nothing.
— There's nothing between us. He's helping. And I've already said… I like women.
Pause. He didn't move. Didn't reply. Just stared. For a long time.
— I'm starting to doubt that, — he said.
He stepped closer. Turned my chair toward him. Placed his hands on the armrests. Close. Too close. I couldn't get up. And he knew it. He didn't touch me — but he pressed down.
His face was motionless. Eyes — fixed on mine.
I didn't blink. Didn't look away.
But the fear was there.
Muted, brief, almost invisible. I didn't know what had made him angry. But he was angry. Truly.
— I know what you proposed in the contract, — he said.
— But you didn't take one thing into account.
— I don't share MY collection. With anyone.
The last phrase came out harsher.
He said it slowly. Like a warning.
I stayed silent. Watched. Kept my breathing even. Didn't let my eyes dart.
He didn't raise his voice. But there was more threat in him than if he had.
— Remember that, — he said.
He gripped the armrests. Hard.
I heard the upholstery crack under his fingers.
I didn't move. Not a millimeter.
He looked at me. For several seconds.
Then stepped back.
Returned to his desk.
I sat there. My heartbeat steady — only because I was forcing it to be.
He didn't tell me what for. But he made it clear: whatever I had done, it was wrong.
I just didn't know where exactly.
He knew. He had decided. And he had told me.
I remembered how that morning he had held Amy's hand. Carefully. Calmly. Almost tenderly.
Now — he pressed down. Made it clear I shouldn't forget who he was, and who I was.
Liana had been right, in a way. He simply wanted a good worker. He was patient. Persuasive.
I wasn't special. I wasn't the exception. And I needed to remember that.
I needed to stay the gray mouse. Otherwise, things would get much more complicated.