behind his desk. The office smelled of lemon polish an

cing a tablet on the desk.

ul noise. One file stopped him when Jordan said, "Elena Carter. Atlanta. Sm

ple. Clean. The kind of cut that held a body like it had

's name?" A

orked for Cole once. Says someone stole a design and

lean. No softness. History made trouble. He had learned the rule and bent himself to

ivate audition. No cameras.

"You want to see

is voice closed the

ed to the file was a photograph: a woman in a doorway with a dress on a hanger, smiling like

Her name was Margaret Carter. She worked for Cole Atelie

eded a story to keep its place. He also saw the tool: bring her close, make her the fa

ng. The cold glass against his palm was sharp. "How many oth

ds took from them. Some real, some not. But her note-peo

sales team burning midnight oil. He thought of Cecilia's voice telling him business is war. He

archives. Payroll. Old lists. Anything with Mar

conds. "Got it. I'll pull the files and sta

losed. If this is gold, we need to re

As he watched the line drawing, he felt an odd curiosity about the woman who had made it. He imagined her hands-callused,

sleeves sat proper. She had called it respect. In Aryan's childhood, respect had been currency. Soft things were

e moves. Still, he could use memory if it helped his aim. Bring the girl in. Make h

We will test her skills. If she's raw but honest, we bring her in as a limited collaborat

slowly. "What

d. He kept his face flat. It

ayroll, extra names, photos. If anyone filed a complaint or

e was stead

patient animals. People wore their own small stories. In one of the flats, may

rust the name Cole and watch the world hand him what she thought was hers

ed a small, practiced smile. It was a smile that said everything

appeared. "Mr. Cole, the caller on hold is from A

email. He picked up his phone instead and typed: Schedule

elow kept moving. The line drawing on the scr

hat the plan would fi