'I think I might just go mad.'
The poor girl thought to herself as she finished the 9th folder from the pile. There was still more than half left to go. The work hours finished an hour ago and she was alone in the office. Her new colleagues even turned off the office lights as they left - an odd behavior, surely. But by this time Misha was already too broken to protest. All she did was take her phone out and use its flashlight to continue reading the meaningless contents in the folders.
Misha didn't even get to have lunch. The last thing she had was the Ice-Americano in the morning on an empty stomach. When the lunch time came and she thought she was finally going to get a break, Marissa came over and asked her, "Have you finished now?" All Misha could do was make an awkward smile and sit back down on her ridiculous stool.
Maybe - just maybe - things wouldn't have been so bad if there was actually anything interesting in these folders. She expected some sort of training manuals. About different projects. Briefings.
But no.
The folders were all filled with mostly numbers and names. Some folders contained nothing but balance sheets. Some folders contained nothing but lists of names and their contact details. How was she supposed to even make a 'summary report' of this?
The only folder that was somewhat manageable was a folder that contained portrait photographs of all the talent that were registered to Thorne Media. From its A-List musicians, actors, actresses, and such to those who came in for auditions - and never made it.
Misha wrote descriptions of their faces on sheets of paper. What else could she write?
A 28-year-old man. A tiny mole under his right eye. Left ear slightly higher than the right ear. Upper lip to lower lip proportion 4:6.
But this wasn't summarizing, was it? She was merely transcribing pictures to words. Once she was complete with that, she would eventually summarize the features of hundreds of faces. But Misha wasn't someone who gave up easily. She was determined to prove her worth. She tried to find patterns. She went over the list over and over again. She cross-checked with the pictures countless times.
She did the same with numbers. Then names. After hours of doing this, she started to see the patterns. But there were still more folders to go. 'I have to try harder,' she thought to herself, lightly slapping her cheeks to stay awake. She immersed herself in the meaningless documents, making meticulous handwritten notes.
She checked the time. It was closer to midnight. Her eyes were starting to close. She hadn't eaten anything for the whole day. Hadn't drunk anything for more than twelve hours. She was getting exhausted.
Yet, she didn't give up.
"Hey."
Misha shot up from her stool at the sudden voice and a gentle tap on her shoulder.
"Dad?!"
She turned to see that it was… Micky.
"Dad?"
"Oh… I'm sorry, Mr… Thorne, right?"
"Just call me Micky, that's fine."
The kind young man then looked at the pile of paper that Misha had written and the pile of folders that had moved from one side of the desk to the other side. All stacked neatly as a single pillar.
"Did you… stay here all night?" The fluffy, brown-haired new colleague asked in a voice mixed with sympathy and amazement.
"Ye… yes."
"And you finished all this?" Micky seemed impressed, and that finally brought some enthusiasm back to Misha.
"Yes, Sir! I did! I did it! I did it after all!"
The young man in front of her burst out laughing and offered a high-five, which she smacked with all her might.
"Ahem."
Both of them turned to the sound of someone clearing his throat. It was none other than Mr. James Thorne, the devil himself.
"Good… good morning, Mr. Thorne!"
Misha was still a little nervous, but having finished all her work overnight, there was also a quiet eagerness in her heart to show off what she had achieved - not merely 'tried.'
"Have you finished the work?" the CEO asked. His voice as cold as iced coff-
'Actually, let's not go there,' Misha stopped her train of thought.
"Yes, Mr. Thorne."
"To my office then."
The boss didn't wait for her answer. He just turned and walked off. He needed no acknowledgment. His orders are final. What he demands shall be met with obedience. Without failure.
Misha looked at Micky, who gave her a reassuring smile and nodded.
'Right. I can do this.'
With that, Misha picked up the stack of detailed scribbles and began to follow Mr. Thorne. Strangely, Micky followed from behind too. When the intern stopped and turned to check, he just shrugged and gestured for her to continue. So she shrugged back and continued.
"Now, give me an executive summary of your findings."
James Thorne was seated on his leather throne. His elbows on the table. Two hands clasped under his chin. Fingers interlocked. Micky stood a few steps away with his hands in his pocket, with a look of intrigue on his face.
"In total there were 23 folders containing a variety of data, ranging from lists of names to balance sheets, as well as a few folders consisting of profile photographs of all the talents registered to Thorne Media, including those who came in for auditions for this year."
The CEO narrowed his eyes, his piercing gaze fixed on Misha, waiting for her to slip up.
"I have summarized the data into three categories. Profile photos, names, and numbers."
From the corner of her eyes, she saw Micky take his hands out of his pocket and rub his chin. James kept a poker face.
"I have identified consistent patterns in each data category."
Probably 99.99% of people in the world would have missed, but Misha, ever so observant, didn't miss that there was a flicker of surprise in Mr. Thorne's dark brown eyes.
"As for the faces, they all have two eyes, a nose, a mouth, and two ears."
There, done.
"Numbers ranged from negative to plus, from small numbers to big numbers. Many of them shared the same numbers."
Done.
"All names contained letters. No numbers."
Done.
"That concludes the exclusive summary, Mr. Thorne."
Misha clasped her notes to her chest, convinced that she nailed it. She has just passed the first hurdle in what she hoped to be a long and fulfilling career at Thorne Media.
To Misha's disappointment though, there were no words of praise from Mr. Thorne. He just sat there with his eyes vacant, as if his soul escaped from his body and went for a walk. This wasn't the first time she saw this look from him.
Without turning her head, she stole a glance at Micky. He wasn't being very supportive either. He had his back turned on her, and it seemed he was biting into his fist while his shoulders were quivering.
After an eternity of tense silence, Mr. Thorne finally spoke.
"You can leave now. Wait for your next assignment."
"Thank you, Mr. Thorne."
Misha turned and left the room with her head held high and her heart content.
This was going to be another great day.