The door closed behind her, and the silence that followed felt sharper than usual.
Silence had always been my preference. It left no room for mistakes, no room for emotion.
I stepped into my office and from here, I could see her through the glass — sitting where I could keep an eye on her. The decision to bring her here wasn't one I'd planned, but control required proximity. If she was going to be a potential risk, I needed her close enough to manage it.
She was supposed to be an ordinary intern, another face that would eventually fade out of the company's system. But now she'd seen something she wasn't meant to. Something that could break more than reputations if it ever slipped.
The problem was… I didn't know how much she'd actually seen.
That uncertainty bothered me more than I wanted to admit. Every calculation in my head depended on knowing all the pieces, and she was a piece I couldn't quite pin down.
Dana had suggested letting her go quietly — relocating her, perhaps paying her off. But that wasn't my way.
Distance created risk. Distance allowed people to think, to talk, to be found.
Keeping her here was simpler. Controlled. Contained.
I leaned back in my chair, glancing once more at her reflection in the glass. She was focused on the screen in front of her, unaware that I could see her every move.
Good. Let her work. Let her settle.
People revealed themselves when they thought they were safe.
My desk phone buzzed. Dana's voice came through, efficient as always.
"Mr. Vale, the internal background report on Miss Hartwell just came in. Would you like it now?"
"Yes," I said.
A minute later, the file appeared on my screen. I opened it, scanning through the lines.
Emily Hartwell, 24. Former intern at Keller Pharmaceuticals. Bachelor's in Business Administration. Clean record. Lives with her sister and niece. No debts. No affiliations.
Nothing stood out — which was precisely what made me look twice.
People who left no trace were rarely as ordinary as they seemed.
I typed a quick message to Security:
Continue monitoring. Quietly. I want updates on her communications.
A few moments later, I stood and walked to the window. The city stretched below — efficient, mechanical, predictable. It was everything I understood. Everything I built my world to be.
But she didn't fit into that order.
She was an unknown variable — quiet, careful, but with something restless behind her eyes. I'd seen it this morning during the meeting. The way she avoided my gaze at first, then looked straight back when she realized I was watching.
Not fear. Not courage. Something in between.
It made me wonder if she remembered more than she let on.
I turned away from the window and checked the clock. Nearly noon.
Through the glass, I saw Dana stop by her desk, handing her a stack of documents. Emily nodded, scribbled something down, and glanced — just briefly — toward my office.
She didn't know I was watching.
Good.
This arrangement wasn't about trust. It wasn't even about her.
It was about control — maintaining it, keeping it from slipping through cracks that could destroy everything I'd built.
Still, there was a strange calm in knowing exactly where she was. Knowing she was working here, within reach, not out there in the city where her presence could become a problem.
For now, this would work.
For now, she would stay.
I returned to my desk, pulling up the next meeting brief. But somewhere in the back of my mind, a quiet thought lingered — one I didn't care to examine too closely.
Maybe it wasn't just about control anymore.