Khan Global HQ, London
The office was a fishbowl. It was made of glass. Three of the walls were clear glass. One wall was frosted glass. The clear walls looked out at the Strategy floor. The frosted wall looked into Zaviyar's office.
Esha sat in her chair. The chair was expensive. It was a Herman Miller chair. It was supposed to be ergonomic. It was supposed to support her back. It did not support her back. It felt stiff. It felt like a cage for her spine.
She looked at the glass walls. Everyone could see her. The analysts outside could see her. The secretaries could see her. If she scratched her nose, they would see it. If she sneezed, they would see it. There was no privacy.
This was on purpose. Esha knew it was on purpose. Zaviyar Khan did not trust her. He put her in a glass box so he could watch her. He wanted to see if she was working. He wanted to see if she was stealing.
She was stealing.
Esha looked at her hand. Her hand was shaking a little bit. Just a tiny bit. She put her hand on the desk to stop it. The desk was white. It was shiny. It showed fingerprints.
She reached into her bag. She pulled out a small black object. It looked like a USB receiver for a wireless mouse. It was not a receiver for a mouse. It was a keylogger. It was a piece of spyware. It cost five thousand dollars. Her father bought it from a man in Tel Aviv.
Esha plugged it into the back of the computer. Her heart beat fast. Thump. Thump. Thump. She waited for an alarm. She waited for red lights to flash. She waited for security to burst in and tackle her.
Nothing happened. The computer just beeped. A little green light blinked on the USB drive. Blink. Then it stopped.
It was working. Every key she typed, the drive would record. Every password she entered, the drive would save. It was so easy. It was too easy.
"Knock knock."
Esha jumped. She spun her chair around.
There was a man standing in the doorway. He was leaning against the glass frame. He was not Zaviyar. He looked like Zaviyar, but softer. He looked like a copy of Zaviyar that had been left out in the sun too long.
He was wearing a linen suit. The suit was cream-colored. It was wrinkled. It was February in London and he was wearing linen. He looked ridiculous. He looked like he should be on a yacht in Italy, not in a rainstorm in Southwark.
"I did not hear a knock," Esha said. She did not stand up. Anya Sharma does not stand up for people.
The man laughed. He walked into the office. He did not ask if he could come in. He just walked in. He started touching things. He picked up a stapler. He picked up a pen.
"I am a ghost," he said. "I move in silence. You must be the Hatchet Woman."
"I am the Chief Strategy Officer," Esha said. She watched his hands. She hated when people touched her things. "Who are you?"
"Daniyal," he said. He put the pen down. He leaned on her desk. He was too close. He smelled like vanilla. He smelled like sugar and expensive cologne. Zaviyar smelled like rain. This man smelled like cake. "Daniyal Khan. The younger brother. The happier brother. The brother who knows how to smile."
Esha looked at him. "Is there something you need, Mr. Khan? I have work to do. I have a department to fire."
Daniyal laughed again. He had a nice laugh. It was a boyish laugh. "Zaviyar told me about you. He said he hired a shark. He did not say the shark would be beautiful."
"Flattery is inefficient," Esha said. She turned back to her computer. She typed a code to hide the keylogger software. "Do you have a purpose? Or are you just here to distract me?"
Daniyal stopped smiling. He looked at the door. He looked nervous.
"I am here to warn you," he said. His voice got quiet. "Friendly advice. From the spare heir."
Esha stopped typing. "Warn me about what?"
"About him." Daniyal pointed a thumb at the frosted glass wall. "Zaviyar. He is... intense right now. The Roys poached our VP of Logistics this morning. Zaviyar is angry. When Zaviyar is angry, people get hurt. Not physically. But professionally. He ruins careers."
Esha felt a little spark of joy. The Roys poached the VP. That was her father. Good job Papa.
"I can handle angry men," Esha said. "I have worked in private equity. Everyone is angry in private equity."
"Zaviyar is different," Daniyal said. He leaned closer. "He is paranoid. He thinks everyone is a traitor. He thinks there is a mole in the building. If you breathe wrong, he will fire you. He will have security drag you out."
Daniyal stood up. He brushed lint off his linen pants. "Just watch your back. The glass walls are not to keep people out. They are to keep secrets in. If you have skeletons in your closet, burn them. Zaviyar has a nose for rot."
Esha looked at him. Did he know? Was this a test? Was the nice brother actually the dangerous one?
"I do not have skeletons," Esha lied. "I live out of a suitcase. I do not have a closet."
"Tragic," Daniyal said. He winked. "Welcome to the madhouse. Try not to let him eat you."
He walked out. He waved at the secretary. The secretary blushed.
Esha let out a breath. She looked at the frosted glass wall. Behind that wall was Zaviyar Khan. He was probably watching the stock market. He was probably plotting.
Her computer made a sound. Ping.
It was an email. A priority email. The sender was ZK.
Subject: WAR ROOM. NOW.
Body: Bring your knife.
Esha stared at the screen. Bring your knife. It was not a metaphor. He wanted her to cut someone.
She stood up. She smoothed her skirt. She grabbed her tablet. She looked at her reflection in the glass. She looked calm. She looked cold. She looked like a weapon.
She was ready.