Chapter 5

• I quietly follow Ms. Lennie as we stroll through a corridor I haven’t seen before. I can’t help but overthink my situation. I suddenly want to speak with Oliver to apologize and probably ask him to help me with his cousin. I don’t want to lose the job.
• But how do I get away with this? How is it possible that I don’t have to see him to be able to talk to him? What’s the point of talking to me if he will fire me, anyway? Though I remember that he has every reason to. In the past weeks, I tried improvising dishes and sending him notes. Maybe he’s already fed up with me.
• We stop by another sculptured wooden door.
• “The Master shall speak with you inside. You don’t need to knock. You’ll find a white door upon getting in. Open the door and sit in the chair provided.” Her face is stone-cold. She is looking at the space behind me, avoiding my eyes. The way she explains it makes me feel like I’m visiting a prisoner.
• I do what I’m told. There might be a chance I won’t get fired if I obey quietly.
• Ms. Lennie’s stolid face vanishes slowly when she closes the door.
• I’m surprised that the entrance looks sunny as I find the white door Ms. Lennie is referring to. It’s probably the simplest door inside the mansion. It’s flat white without any carvings or designs, with only a silver doorknob. I open it with my already sweaty palm.
• I gasp at the sight inside. Another medium-sized, empty room appears in front of me. There is nothing on the walls, and everything is painted in white, except for a computer and a telephone placed on a glass table.
• The entire room is giving me chills. It’s like an interrogation room for criminals. I knew he was a bit eccentric, but this confirms my suspicions that he isn’t normal at all. He’s a weirdo.
• Why would he put something like this in his house? Then I remember what Oliver told me before. He asked me not to freak out. Is this what he meant?
• The telephone on the desk abruptly rings.
• “Oh my God!” I yelp in surprise. I touch my chest, for my heart is pounding abnormally. All I can think about is running for my life. How could anyone expect me not to get freaked out by this?
• “Answer the phone and sit,” a cold, stern voice suddenly says loudly. I look up and find a large, implanted speaker in the gray ceiling.
• God. This is creepy. I swallow. If I could only chew my nervousness like a delicious meal, I’d have a happy stomach.
• “I believe I told you to sit,” he says again, and honestly, his voice doesn’t sound eerie at all. It even sounds... melodious.
• But the realization hits me. How does he know I’m not sitting?
• Oh, no. He can see me. He can see how nervous and afraid I am.
• I slowly walk toward the chair and sit down. I blow out a deep breath.
• “Now, place the telephone to your ear so I can hear you speak,” he instructs.
• Hesitantly, I reach for the white wireless telephone, then place it to my ear. “Hello?”
• “Good girl.” The voice is still coming from the speakers and not through the telephone. This is getting more and more strange.
• Is this man the famous billionaire, Chairman Brandon Lucien? I’m beginning to doubt it. What if he is really some psychotic man who murders—
• No, no. He can’t be that. I’m sure I entered the right house. Oliver Katrakis, the CEO of Grethe and Elga Enterprises, is definitely the man with whom I’ve worked the past month—which means this man over the phone is indeed the faceless chairman everyone speaks about. The man who answered my notes. I probably watched too many horror films.
• “So, Alayna. Why did you come to my room?”
• Okay, that was straightforward. “I was lost,” I answer, not sure where I’m supposed to look.
• “Yes, but no matter how significant your reason was, you still broke the number one rule in my house.”
• “I know,” I whisper. “I’m sorry. It’s just an accident—”
• “I understand, but I’m afraid I can’t accept your reason. It’s a pity. I find you talented,” he admits with a hint of disappointment in his voice.
• “You do?” I burst out but cover my mouth instantly. “Sorry.” I lower my eyes in embarrassment.
• “Yes. Honestly, you make my mealtime fun, and I’m getting used to your little notes. I like the food you make, but I’m afraid I have to fire you.”
• “I’m sorry. If you would at least give me a chance—”
• “But I am so eager to fire you right now, Miss Hart,” he says, cutting me off. “One thing I despise the most are absent-minded people.” There is a long pause on his end. “But I need something only you can provide, so of course, I’m giving you a chance if you cooperate with me.”
• “What?” My voice rises. “What do you need from me?” What else can someone like me give to someone as wealthy as Brandon Lucien?
• “I meant to speak to you. I’m sure Oliver already told you about that.”
• “Y-Yes... he did.”
• “I am giving you one week, a good compensation amount, but that’s if you give me what I need. That is your only chance, Miss Hart, and then you are free to leave my house. You have nothing to lose.”
• My chin drops. Nothing to lose? He’s firing me after a week! This job is everything to me now. Here I can cook to my heart’s content, and I have a boss who helps me learn so much about my profession. Everything was working so great. Just why did I have to screw this up?
• But then he said he would give me good compensation. Maybe I could try to negotiate.
• I clear my throat. “What is it that you need from me, sir?”
• “The reason why you are in my house.”
• Were there other reasons than working here?
• I remember all the hints Oliver has been giving me. He meant it when he said I was chosen. He meant it when he said I will soon know why. Still, I don’t fully understand.
• My thoughts are interrupted when the computer on the desk suddenly turns on. An image of me and a middle-aged woman pops up on the screen.
• Lucia Moretti. One of the best chefs I know. I met her at the culinary training center in Venice after graduating from the institute in Kansas. I enrolled in a six-month training course to broaden my knowledge of Italian cuisine, and she was my mentor.
• “What do you want from her?” I ask.
• “Good. Judging by your question, I believe you remember her. This is what I need from you. I want you to tell me where she is,” he demands, like it is so easy. Like I’d just know exactly where she is at this moment.
• Did he hire me for this?
• “What? I don’t think I can do that.”
• “Why not?”
• “Because it’s been a long time. I can’t know exactly where she is right now or if she’s still there...” I half-lie. I do know where she is. I’ve spoken to her after I left the training school, and she’s pretty much open to me with things about herself. But I couldn’t just give a stranger such information.
• What if this man is some sort of thug? No normal person would speak only on a telephone when he could ask me himself.
• “As I said, you will receive better compensation if you cooperate.”
• “This is what you meant? First thing, providing information like that to a stranger is illegal. Lucia can sue me for invading her privacy.”
• And did he really think I could be bought with money?
• “Lucia?” he repeats, sounding confused.
• “Yes, her name. Lucia... Moretti.”
• “I guess she goes by another name now,” he says in a low tone but a little exasperated. “Did she tell you that’s her name?”
• I frown. “Why would she lie about it?”
• “Her name... Her real name is Annette Teller. She’s Italian now, I see,” he says sarcastically.
• Oh crap. I gave him more information than he already had. “What? I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”
• “Is she still in Italy? When was the last time you’ve heard from her?”
• “I told you I don’t know.” I look down.
• “Why do I think you’re not telling me everything?” He exhales. “Miss Hart, if you can just tell me everything, you will be compensated. That is a promise.”
• His proposal instantly makes me ponder. It would absolutely change my family’s life. I’m sure the compensation he mentioned isn’t just a few dollars. I suddenly imagine living in a mansion like this with my twelve siblings and seeing my mother healthy and strong again because I would finally be able to get her scoliosis treated.
• However, something so easy must hide a risk. One thing I learned from my mother; money shouldn’t be treated lightly. It should be hard-earned.
• I hold my breath and answer firmly, “I don’t know where she is.”
• “Miss Hart. Doesn’t your mother need medical attention? Neuromuscular scoliosis, am I correct?”
• My cheeks flare. “How did you know that?” I almost squeal angrily. “That’s an invasion of privacy!”
• “You’re not the only one who can do research, Miss Hart,” he points out.
• “But not up to this point—”
• “Just answer the question.”
• I gulp hard. “Yes, s-she does.”
• “And has a debt of twenty thousand to the bank.”
• I feel my blood drain from my face. Those debts were because of my mother’s medication too. I shut my eyes briefly and exhale a breath.
• “Fine, that’s enough.”
• “Good, because I strongly believe you can gain something from this if you’d just tell me something useful. I’ll pay for your mother’s medication, settle your debts for you, and you will be rewarded with a prize you’ve never touched in your life.”
• His first words sounded as sweet as heaven, but this man is certainly so full of himself.
• “Are you belittling me?” I ask.
• “I’m just stating the facts.”
• Wow. I’m almost out of words. “Why are you telling me this just now? Why not when I started working here? It doesn’t make sense. I feel like this is the only reason why I’m here.”
• “And now you’re belittling yourself. I did say you have a talent.”
• “But you were going to fire me. I can’t help you with that, Mr. Lucien—I mean, Master...”
• “Then this conversation is useless,” he says. “You are right, Miss Hart. You’re fired.”