The corridors of the hospital smelled of antiseptic. Grace stepped out of the hospital. She finally inhaled fresh air. She held her bag tight, her heart was strangely restless. She didn't know why. Although she has met Donald twice but the thought of meeting him again unsettled her.
She hailed a taxi, sliding into the back seat. Her cheap blazer pulling at the shoulders, she took out her notebook, flipping through the messy handwriting; So many arrows, circles, and sticky notes. So much is still unanswered.
Her mind shifted to Donald Cole. She hated that the name was beginning to creep into her thoughts every time. He was the enemy, he carried the name that she wanted to expose. But her pulse refused to obey her reason.
She bit her lips, staring at the window as the taxi crawled through the traffic. "Focus, Grace." She whispered to herself. "This is about Bernard, about the truth. Not about him."
Still, her chest tightened. Why had he asked for her? Why now?
She clutched her pen, pressing the tip against her notebook page, writing these words in shaky ink: "Don't trust him." But those words didn't calm her.
The Taxi pulled up in front of the Cole Group building. The glass window was glittering like Ice in the fading sun. Men in black suits moved near the entrance, their earpieces flashing faintly. The building itself was tall and clean, but something about it made her skin crawl.
Grace paid the driver, gathered her bag. She stepped out of the vehicle. Her legs felt lighter, she told herself that it was just the weight of the investigation. But deep down, she knew it was also him. Donald Cole and tonight, they'll finally sit across the desk, with no factory noise, no cameras, no crowd, just the two of them.
She entered the building. The building reception was awfully quiet. She walked in quietly, trying not to be noticed by anyone. She walked up to the receptionist who directed her to take the lift.
The lift hummed up the glass building. Grace held her bag with both arms like it was her shield. It was her first time using an elevator. She felt her stomach rumble like she wanted to puke. Her palm was damp. She told herself to breathe slowly, she told herself to be sharp. She had come for facts, not feelings.
The door opened as the office smelled like coffee and newspaper. Men in suits moved past. Collins stepped up her.
"Miss McCarthy," he said formally. He led her down a corridor. They were portraits of men. She felt like they were staring at her. At the end of the hall, a heavy glass door opened into Donald's office.
Donald sat behind a big desk. The room was all glass and leather. A large portrait of Chief Cole hung behind him. He stood up as she came in. For a moment, they only looked at each other. He was taller than she remembered. Up close, his eyes were sharper. He wore a plain black shirt now, no tie. His curly hair fell a little over his forehead. He smiled a quick smile. It was fake and obviously practiced.
"Miss McCarthy," he said. His voice was low, not for the room but for her. "Thank you for coming."
"Mr. Cole, thank you for seeing me." Grace replied in a formal tone.
Collins shut the door and left them alone. Suddenly, it was as if the sound of the city had disappeared. the office was quiet and cold.
Donald motioned to the chair, she sat. The chair was soft and comfortable compared to the chair in her office. He pushed a glass of water towards her.
"Before we start," he said. "Coffee?"
"No, thank you." She kept her voice steady.
He stared at her. At her hand-me-down shirt, her stained white skirt, and her old bags, which she held on to tightly.
"You look tired," he said casually. "Long day?"
"Yes, but not very productive." She said as she stared into his eyes. "Things didn't really go as planned."
"I see." Donald said
She opened her bag and brought out her notebook and pen.
"Straight to business, then." Donald said as he watched her bring out materials.
"Mr. Cole," she began. "People have lost their farms. Some complained that the river, which was their source of water, had turned black. Some of your workers say they were threatened when they asked for their pay. I have their names and dates. All I want to know is if Cole Oil will allow an independent investigation. That's all."
He leaned back in his seat. "Independent investigation is messy, they cost a lot of money and time. They can also ruin Cole Oil's reputation." He smiles again. This time softer. "You understand that, yes?"
She tightened her grip on her pen. "I understand. But I also understand that when the right answer is silence, people die. And for this reason, is why I am here."
He looked at her sternly as if trying to read her. His fingers rubbed the edges of the ledger on his desk. "You were brave at the conference; you asked the questions others couldn't ask. Why would a woman like you risk so much?"
She said, clearing her throat. "Someone must speak. Because if we keep quiet, nothing changes."
He studied her as he saw a scar on her finger. A scar that must have happened when she was taking notes. "Do you believe the company is hiding things?" he asked.
"Yes!" Grace said firmly. Her eyes met his eyes without flinching. "And I think someone paid people they should not have, and did not pay people who deserved it. Rather, they were unalived. Bernard's name came up today. His wife disappeared three weeks after he died. I want to know why."
The word Bernard made his face go still. He did not look away. He did not blink. he only tightened his finger around the pen until his knuckles whitened.
"Bernard," he said softly. "How do you know that name?"
She had expected him to ask in a cold tone. But his voice was soft and tender, like she had touched a bruise.
"Two older journalists mentioned his name at the conference. I followed it and found some reports. They say he died in a car accident twenty-nine years ago. His wife was admitted into City Hospital three weeks later and vanished after two days with her son." She paused.
"Mr. and Mrs. Bernard were both employees of the Cole oil group. I want records. I want to know what happened to them." She said firmly with a new surge of courage.
Donald took a deep breath. He watched but couldn't read her. Then he reached for a folder and pushed it across the desk. The cover was thick and plain.
"We do not keep City Hospital records here." He said, tapping the ledger.
'Do you know him? Mr. Bernard." Grace said as she leaned. Her pulse quickened.
He smiled. "I know the name from a long time ago. One of your industry's…" he paused, looking sharply into her eyes. "Conspiracy theories." He looked down at her recorder. Like he wanted to be mindful about what he says next.
"You said an independent investigation. Hmm, if I were to allow a team in, do you think they'll find what you expect?" He asked.
"I don't think anything." She snapped. "I know what workers tell me. They have seen things and they keep lists, but someone has to check." Grace said.
"You aren't like others who come here with polite questions, Mrs. McCarthy. You speak like someone who has stood by ruined families. There's anger in you, and I like that." Donald said.
The compliment landed heavily on her. She replied to him in a shaky voice. "This isn't about you, Mr. Cole."
"No?" he asked with a soft tone. He leaned forward, his forearms on the desk. He smelled faintly of dark wood and something expensive. The scent made Grace's mind dizzy for a second. "Then why do you keep thinking about me?" He asked with his eyes fixed on her.
Grace's mouth opened. For the first time since she entered that office, she was short of words. This expected a lot of questions. But not this. She had not planned what to say if he made it personal.
"Because you are the face of the company." She said finally. "Because you stand on the same stage as the people who decide what goes on in Cole Oil."
He smiled. And for a very short second, he looked less like a villain and more like a man trying to understand Cole Oil. He was a little confused, like Grace. He also needed answers to his own question. They were like pieces on a chessboard. Only that Grace was a pawn and Donald, the bishop. All were being used to protect someone or something, and they were determined to find out who.
"You know," he began. "I have files, tons of old ledgers, approvals that have never reached workers. But that could be anything. My father ran a large business, and there are always going to be loose ends. I would like to know what you have, not for the press, but for me. I want facts, if there is corruption," he paused. "I need to know."
Grace perceived danger in that offer. If she helps him, she risks her story and independence. If she refused, she might lose a rare ally who is closer to information than she is. "You want my notes?" she asked.
He leaned back slowly. "Not yet, first talk to me. Tell me everything you know and dug out. If I find out some people in my company are stealing from the poor, I will not stand for it. But if you punish wrong claims, you ruin lives and companies. So, I want concrete evidence." He said as he leaned forward again. "Listen, Grace, we both have power here, different kinds. Let us use it wisely."
Grace felt his words, she knew he was trying to make a bargain. She knew she had to set boundaries, the rich cannot always be trusted.
"If I find anything, you'll clean up what is wrong. You'll expose whoever is behind and not cover it up." She said with so much fire in her eyes. "Let an independent team enter with lawyers who do not answer to Cole Oil. Let them look. If they find nothing, I write nothing. If they find lies, I will write the truth."
Donald watched her carefully, weighing her words and how they would affect the future of Cole Oil. "And if they find worse, if they find out people were silenced?" his mouth hardened. "We'll handle it quietly, perhaps. But it will be handled."
"Miss McCarthy," he said finally. "One more thing, why do you think Bernard's wife left the hospital? Why was she even there in the first place?"
She thought about the worn-out photo she had seen online. Although, the article hinted at fear, Grace felt it was something bigger. "I don't know. But I'll find out." She said like she was making a promise.
Donald smiled. He stood up and walked around the desk. He walked close enough for Grace to smell his cologne. He picked up the folder to hand it to her. She took it as they made contact. Their fingers brushed. It was a brief contact, but it felt like an electric shock. Both of them froze, their eyes locked.
Collins knocked on the door and stepped in. They both turned back to see who had knocked.
"Mr. Cole, your secretary says you have an appointment at six," Collins said.
Donald straightened. He looked at Grace with a steady smile. "Thank you for coming, Miss McCarthy. Think about what I said. If you are willing to share the facts, we can try to fix this properly." He said as he stretched out his hand to help her up.
Grace placed her hand on his as she rose. She didn't take her eyes off his. Her legs felt weak. She had experienced a butterfly in her stomach. She felt his soft, delicate skin as her heart raced. She didn't understand what she felt, but she knew it wasn't normal.
Donald could finally read her eyes. He tried to be soft, or so he told himself. He knew he was different around her. He thought: could he be falling for her? when her palm met his, a feeling ran through his body. He didn't know why, but he knew he didn't want her to leave.
Collins stared at both of them, and how they stared at each other with passion. He knew immediately that this was more than a story. This was an attraction. A weird type of attraction.
"Thank you." Grace said as she turned to leave. When she reached the door, Donald said one last thing. his voice changed completely. It carried care; it was gentle, almost private. "Be careful, Grace."
Grace closed the door behind her and walked out of the glass corridor. Her heartbeat pounded harder with a mixture of victory and danger. But underneath all of those was something she couldn't understand: pleasure?
Outside, the city was hot in the sun. She stepped out of the building as she hailed a taxi. She had to rush home, do some paperwork, and take a nap. She has a meeting tomorrow with the hospital clerk.
She entered the taxi, and when she looked up at the Cole Oil building, she saw Donald staring down at her. Her heart skipped. The taxi drove away. She remembered his words, the bargain, as she placed her hands on her lips. The smell of his perfume still lingered on her palm. Her mind drifted to him. She wasn't sure about this new feeling, but she knew something was changing. She kept playing the touch in her head, it lingered in a bone. She was almost daydreaming as the honk of a vehicle brought her back to reality.
Donald stared at his palm. He knew he wanted her, but not in the way he wanted other women. He wasn't sure. But his heart raced as her voice echoed in his head. He didn't hear the voice of Collins. They sounded like background noise. He wanted to see her again.