This damn reaction of his wouldn't leave me alone. I couldn't even read before bed. Hell, not even before bed—I didn't sleep at all. The failure of the first assignment burned inside me, but what pissed me off more than anything was Theron and his vague accusations. He didn't even say what exactly he was angry about—was it because I dug into his files, or because I touched one of his precious collectibles?
I'd gone through every possible contract option. I kept checking my phone, digging up more information on Suzuki. There was nothing better. The price was already inflated. So it wasn't the price.
It was the most sleepless night in the past three years. I went to work completely drained. My head felt like it was full of wind. On the way to the office, I bought two cups of coffee, and once at my desk, I kept sifting through options over and over again. It was a splinter in my brain—until you rip it out with flesh, there's no peace.
My thoughts were interrupted by Ostin, already standing at my desk. I didn't even notice him come in.
— Are you alright? — he asked.
— Yes. Just... — I had to choose my words carefully when it came to my own boss. — Theron got angry yesterday because I poked around in his assets. I'm sorry if that caused trouble for you too. — I watched him as he looked at me, confused.
— I don't really get what you mean. Theron personally approved access to those documents. On top of that, he's asking for your version of the deal — he signed off on it.
— What? Is he out of his mind?.. — I accidentally blurted out.
For a fraction of a second, my calm and control cracked. It had been a long time, a very long time, since I'd let myself show emotion… The lack of sleep was clearly taking its toll. Time to get a grip.
— Alright, I'll prepare it. Should I send it electronically or print a hard copy? — I asked in a quiet, even voice, smoothing over the outburst.
— You can send it to him or Hilda by email. And yeah, he's waiting for you in his office right now. You've got new tasks.
That was unexpected — just half an hour ago I was sure I'd blown it. Apparently, Theron's plan was to rattle my nerves. I couldn't loosen my grip — or I'd lose. Or worse, be quietly disposed of at the first opportunity.
I took my laptop, notebook, and pen. Ostin didn't walk me there — said they wanted to see me alone. I didn't ask many questions — what was the point? Nothing would change. I just had to follow orders — quietly, without drama or argument. That would make my stay here simpler… and longer.
I entered his office. At the far end of the conference table, he sat with Liana, chatting pleasantly about something. But the moment I stepped in at Hilda's invitation, both their expressions changed. Calmer, more serious. Businesslike.
Something inside me said this wasn't a coincidence. But first — listen. I didn't like making assumptions too early. Still, my instincts stirred uneasily.
I'd have to be meticulous with details and act like yesterday meant nothing.
— May I take a seat at the table? — I asked politely. At that moment, I caught a flicker of surprise on Theron's face. One-nil, I thought, waiting for permission.
— Yes, — he replied curtly, and I caught a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. Before, I'd just walk in and sit — he was always alone then. Now — with another employee and ex-lover rolled into one. Time to be more careful — and show this lady that my relationship with him was strictly professional. That would cut any drama off at the root.
I laid out my laptop, opened my notebook, and got ready.
— I need you to draft a marketing contract for the star of Travis Dota, — Theron said, still curt, not taking his eyes off me. Analyzing me? Or testing my reaction?
— May I see the original or rough draft of the agreement to process and prepare it for presentation to the agency? — I asked, equally dry and composed.
— You don't understand, — Liana cut in unexpectedly. — You're supposed to write the contract yourself, one that will suit them.
I looked at her questioningly — with a hint of surprise. Feigned, of course: she jumped into the conversation to show she had a special position with Theron. He clasped his hands in front of his mouth, elbows on the table — a pose I'd seen at my interview. He was assessing.
— Mr. Theron, just to clarify: I'm to draft terms that benefit both parties and prepare a complete, legally sound contract? — I kept my gaze fixed on him, letting her know she meant nothing to me.
From the corner of my eye, I caught Liana's flare of rage. That was all she could manage for now.
— May I receive the contracts we've previously offered them? — I asked, making small notes in my notebook.
— Are you deaf or just slow? — Liana butted in again, this time more tense. — You need to come up with something they'll accept.
I raised my head and kept looking at Theron. My silence told her everything: he was my boss, not her. Her words meant nothing.
Theron's face didn't give much away — was he enjoying the scene or still analyzing?
— Liana will send you all versions of the written and verbal offers by email, — Theron leaned back in his chair, and I noticed a faint approving smile on his lips. — Clear?
— Yes, — I replied. Odd that they'd summon me over something this small. Or was it just theater? An under-rehearsed show by Liana — or something carefully staged by Theron? Either way, from the look of satisfaction on his face, I was sure I'd passed the scene.
— Liana, is that clear to you? — His cold, cutting voice sliced through the air like thunder out of nowhere. My hand froze with the pen mid-stroke.
I slowly raised my head and saw Liana freeze as well, fully aware of what that tone meant. It wasn't fear — it drilled a simple truth into your head: this wasn't just a boss. I momentarily forgot he was mafia.
— Yes, — she replied calmly, obediently.
I won't lie — Theron caught my attention. He was a player. And he never did anything for no reason. I could only guess what he was really thinking.
— You're dismissed, — he said in the same commanding, cold voice.
For a moment I met his gaze, until he looked straight at me — but I quickly pulled myself together and began gathering my things.
— Not you, — he stopped me. — Liana, you're dismissed.
She got up immediately and left, the dull clack of her heels echoing in my ears. I suppressed any reaction and sat stone-faced.
We stared at each other. I didn't look away — the only way to show it didn't get to me. But inside, I knew: this man played in the big leagues. Red light. Danger.
— You'll need to audit one of the subsidiaries for targeted funding. Essentially the same report you submitted yesterday. Funding requests are rising, results are dropping. I haven't reviewed all the subsidiaries in a while. See Ostin — he'll give you all the documents and info, — his voice was calmer now, though still strict. And damn it, that was oddly captivating.
— Alright.
Theron looked at me for another minute.
— You can go, — he ordered.
I packed up and left the lion's den without incident. I felt a little better today — the sting of yesterday's failure had already begun to fade. I headed to Ostin's office.
When I arrived, he had already prepared all the documents for working with the Phoenix subsidiary and handed me a letter that would let me request the necessary files for review. He also gave me a brief instruction: twentieth floor, main director is Ricky, or his deputy John. No clear description of what the company did, but the assignment seemed simple enough. Was there a catch?
— We've notified Phoenix about your visit, so feel free to stop by any time.
— Okay, — I kept the conversation minimal to avoid giving Theron any new reasons to test my nerves.
— Everything alright? — Ostin asked.
— Yes, all good. I'll visit the company after lunch, — I informed him and left.
The company was far from both my home and the office. The ride took two hours — through traffic and weekday routine. The only upside: it wasn't as hot as in July. The mid-August sun didn't make me sweat in my grey suit, and I was relieved I wouldn't have to worry about smelling bad.
When I reached Phoenix — a standard mid-range company occupying a few floors in a high-rise — I arrived at the reception desk. There, I was met by yet another model-blonde type and was asked to wait.
I wondered how long one had to wait to remind someone you're here? I sat patiently for two hours. By five o'clock, it became clear: they were either blowing me off or had forgotten.
After reminding the blonde of my presence, I got nothing but a perfunctory smile and was directed back to the waiting couch.
A flicker of doubt slid through my mind — maybe this task really was a setup. But I shut it down by the book. Don't draw conclusions from first impressions, I reminded myself.
I decided to push harder and approached the blonde again, showing her the letter from VECS. She grimaced and sent me right back to the couch.
Another hour passed before a tall, muscular, bald man with stubble stepped out of an office.
— Anna, I'm heading home. Send me tomorrow's schedule by email, — he told the secretary and was about to walk past.
I stood up and intercepted him.
— Are you Mr. Ricky? — I asked, blocking his path slightly.
— Yeah. And you are? — he asked.
Of course... — I held back the curse mentally.
— I'm Mirey. I came from the main VECS office for the investment reports and documents.
— Ah, right. Almost forgot. Anna, did you prep the folder? — he turned to his secretary.
The blonde pulled out a folder barely forty pages thick and handed it to him.
— Here's your request. Now kindly get out of the way, — he shoved the thin folder at me and headed for the exit.
I rushed after him.
— I think there's been a mistake, — I stopped him at the entrance and showed him the sheet with the list I needed. — Here's the list. I'd appreciate it if I could pick it up tomorrow.
He turned back. His expression was no longer friendly.
— Miss Murray, I think you're the one who doesn't get it. I gave you everything I have. For the rest, go to Dave Vescari — he runs our branch.
— You're mistaken, — I replied coldly, evenly. — I'm here on Mr. Theron's orders, not Dave's. I have permission to request these documents. — I showed him the list and letter again.
The irritation on his face grew sharper.
— For additional documents — go to Dave Vescari, — he snapped and headed to the elevator.
I followed him, realizing: the only way to get anything was to either piss him off or wear him down.
— You must give me the documents, — I rattled on, catching up. — Please, take the request.
Ricky turned and stopped me with a hand.
— You stupid or just slow? — his voice turned hard, gangster-like. — I told you: if you want those documents, go to Dave Vescari. Don't you get how things work here?
— You don't understand. I was sent to you, not him. And you must give me the documents from this list, — I held out the sheet again.
He snatched it, crumpled it, and tossed it in the trash.
— Listen here, newbie. You'd better learn to play by the rules around here, or get lost, — he said threateningly, standing by the elevator where no one else was around.
I knew how to push people's buttons, and I continued in the same calm, almost naive tone:
— You don't understand. I'm here on behalf of senior leadership, and I need the documents from this list. — I pulled out another copy of the request.
He snatched it again, crumpled it, threw it away. Then shoved me roughly against the wall. Pain shot through the back of my head.
— You seriously a dumb bitch? Shove your request up your ass. You want documents — go to Dave. — He grabbed my wrist and raised it. — Start thinking, or you won't last long, newbie. — His fingers squeezed, showing his strength.
The elevator arrived. He let me go and stepped inside.
— You didn't understand me either, Ricky Thompson. I came on a direct order from Mr. Theron, — I said.
He glared at me until the doors closed.
Now I was sure: this task was a setup.
Standing outside waiting for a cab, I quickly texted Derek. We hadn't seen each other in a while.
18:08: Let's have some wine tonight.
A few minutes later I caught a cab, along with the inevitable traffic jam. The sun was already dipping behind the high-rises, though not fully set. Almost a romantic atmosphere. I liked this time of day — not quite light, not quite dark — perfect.
Enjoying the moment and watching the stream of people, I kept turning the same questions over in my mind:
So Theron sent me into this with Liana and Dave? But why? To test my endurance? Loyalty? Smarts? Or to get rid of me? An ex-lover's one thing — a brother's another. And considering what I've seen and heard... Dave keeps dragging problems into the company, and Theron keeps cleaning up after him. Or maybe he sent me to fix another mess Dave made?
I hated uncertainty. For me, it was simple: there's a question, there's a task — and I find the answers. But looking for the question itself — that drained me.
By the time I got home, it was already dark, and my craving for wine had only intensified. But I didn't make it to the door before a stranger called out to me:
— Miss Mirey Ellis? — asked a middle-aged man in a black suit.
— Yes, — I replied calmly, though everything inside me braced.
— I'm Agent Ron Davis, FBI. Do you have a minute?