Wolfe's office space wasn't just an office. It was a throne room made of glass, steel, and silence. It is perched high on the 47th floor, lined with floor-to-ceiling glass walls that offer a panoramic view of the city skyline.
Brenda, the company's long-standing private chef and occasional cleaner for the executive suite, stood near the sink, eyes wide with disbelief. Her apron was still tied, her gloves half-off.
Across from her stood Adrian Wolfe—Sleeves rolled, jaw tight, and a disgusted look on his face like she'd just served him poison instead of steak.
In his hand: a fork. Not broken. Not dirty. Just wet. Slightly. A drop of water on the handle. He held it out like a weapon.
"You call this clean?"
Brenda blinked. "Sir, I—it was sanitized. Rinsed with filtered water. I dried everything."
"Not this one!" His voice was sharp
"I can clean it again. Or replace the whole set if you prefer." She swallowed.
"I don't want another excuse. I want a standard. And clearly, your eyes and hands are no longer up to mine."
Her voice broke a little, "Sir, I've served you for eight years. I've cooked through your fevers. Cleaned your suit during your down times. One fork?"
"One fork!" He said flatly, placing it on a napkin like it was diseased. "Is all it takes to question trust? You may leave now. Your position is vacated."
No shouting. No theatrics. Just clinical, cold dismissal. She stood for a second longer, chest rising and falling, trying to form words. But there were none. She untied her apron. Set it on the counter. And walked out. As the door swung shut behind her, Wolfe turned to his assistant.
"Alexander. I need that position filled before tomorrow morning. No agencies. No soft hands. I want someone who understands silence, hygiene… and how I take my tea"
He nodded, tapping something into his tablet. "Preference?"
"Female. Quiet. Invisible. But sharp enough to never ask what 'two drops of lemon' means again."
"Adrian looked down at the fork one more time. Then pushed it away with a single finger, as if it had personally offended him."
Wolfe's Tower--Alexander's office--47th floor
Alexander Blackwood's office was smaller than Wolfe's—but only by design. It was silent. Minimalist. Immaculate.
A dark oak desk with matte finish. One chair for visitors (rarely used), a bookshelf lined with old espionage novels, and a vintage typewriter in one corner—more for discipline than correction. A digital screen floated in front of him, displaying Wolfe & Co.'s internal hiring platform.
He scrolled through candidates with mechanical precision: Culinary background: Yes. Discreet employment history: Yes. No social media presence: Even Better. No scent of entitlement: Non-negotiable.
He had filtered out the noise, the glam, the smiles-too-big and resumes-too-loud. But then—he pauses.
Talia Brooks. The profile was simple. Almost… modest. No glittering endorsements. No dramatic phrases. Just: "Former in-house assistant cook and cleaning staff. Detail-oriented. Observant. Quiet worker." No profile photo. Just a name and a calm, clean resume.
He clicked it open—expecting more of the same. But as he read, something in his jaw tensed. Then… relaxed.
"Knows how to read the silence in the room." "Experienced in executive settings – doesn't linger. Don't interrupt." "Believes service is a language of respect."
He blinked once. That wasn't just skill. That was alignment. The kind that can't be trained – only found.
His fingers hovered over the keyboard for a beat longer than usual. Which, for Alexander Blackwood, meant he was visibly shaken? He leaned back, eyes narrowing – not in suspicion, but in… curiosity.
"Talia Brooks," he murmured aloud for the first time.
The name sounded delicate in his voice. But there was weight in the way he said it – like he'd just discovered something Wolfe hadn't seen yet.
A flicker of something passed through him. Something closest to… interest. Not just in her resume. Not just in what she could do.
He clicked SHORTLIST. Then stared at her name on the screed for one more second than he needed to. Then he said to himself "Let's see if you can clean up the mess we never admit exists."