“Lockwood Inc., you mean?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“They provide graduates with so many excellent opportunities. Coffee?”
We paused at the door to the office break room, where a couple of Paulson employees milled around a stale pot of coffee warming in the machine. I shook my head. Carly led me onward.
“Were you able to participate in Orson Lockwood’s shadowing program?” she asked as we turned down yet another hallway. Paulson Media’s office was more labyrinthine than I would’ve hoped.
“Uh, no,” I said, trying to come up with a crafty lie. “Unfortunately, my work and academic schedules didn’t accommodate the shadowing program.”
“What a shame,” said Carly. “I’m sure that won’t affect your interview process though. Paulson values hard work and dedication too. Here we are!”
We had finally arrived at a sleek, modern waiting room. Immediately, my eye was drawn to a painting hung on the far wall. I had seen it before. The Raptors were notorious for illegally obtaining rare or expensive artwork, which they stored in their underground headquarters.
“Beautiful painting,” I remarked casually, strolling over to it to examine it.
“Isn’t it, though?” agreed Carly. “Maintenance hung that up just last week. It really livens up the room, don’t you think?”
The colors were rather drab, all browns and dark reds, but it was the recent installation of the painting that interested me more. A BRS relic mysteriously appears at Paulson Media just days after O’Connor’s body vanishes from the Raptors’ cellar? It was too much of a coincidence to overlook.
“Take a seat,” said Carly, oblivious to my overeager interest in the painting. “You’re our last interview for the day. The hiring manager will call you in shortly.”
Carly excused herself, but I was too nervous to sit down. I paced back and forth in front of the painting. Part of me wanted to yank it right off the wall, but a camera winked at me from the corner of the room, limiting my art-theft options. I took the burner phone out of my pocket and texted Lauren.
Can you access Paulson’s security cameras from your computer?
She replied quickly. Not without some kind of link to their network. Why?
I might’ve found something, but I can’t check if I’m right or not with a camera pointing at me.
Can you get to the security office?
Unlikely. This place is a damn labyrinth. I’m in the waiting room outside the hiring manager’s office.
For a minute or two, Lauren didn’t text back, leaving me impatient and aggravated. Finally, she replied. Found a map of the building online. You’re in luck. The security office is just around the corner from you, a few doors down from the break room. You probably passed it on your way in.
You’re a genius.
I know. You don’t have to disable the cameras, by the way. Distract the guard. Get him out of there any way you can. Then do what you have to do and get the hell out of there.
Before I could text back, the door to the waiting room opened once more. The hiring manager, a tall, spindly man in an ill-fitted suit jacket, poked his head inside.
“Miss Ramy?”
“Yes, that’s me.”
“Come on in.”
“I—”
This was a waste of time. There was no point in faking my way through an interview. I was already inside the building, and the clock was ticking. I needed an exit strategy.
“I’m so sorry,” I said, clutching my stomach. “I hate to run out on you, but I tried that new sushi restaurant downtown for lunch today, and I’m afraid it was a mistake.”
I made a retching noise and covered my mouth. The hiring manager looked horrified, retreating into his office, and I took the opportunity to flee from the waiting room. Once out of sight, I couldn’t help but laugh at the disgusted look on the hiring manager’s face. Who knew all it took to conquer a man was a good dose of fake nausea?
Distracting the security guard was a whole different challenge. I passed the break room, which was now empty, and paused outside the door to the security office. I peeked inside. There was only one guard, his feet propped up on the desk as he leisurely sipped a steaming beverage from a thermos. Above him, an array of monitors presented the different angles filtering in from the office cameras. The display at the top right focused on the waiting room. It was vacant now, and the BRS painting taunted me through the black-and-white footage.
A Paulson employee appeared at the end of the hallway. Quickly, I turned away from the security window, pretending that I’d been on my way to the break room, and flashed the random woman a smile as we crossed paths. She politely smiled back and continued on her way. In the break room, I considered my options. If Lauren were here, she would’ve had no problem figuring out a way to distract a guard. Knowing her, she would’ve lured him out of the office with a wink and a hair flip, but I had never been good at using my womanly wiles to get what I wanted. I needed a different strategy.
The still simmering coffeepot, gurgling on the counter in the corner of the room, caught my eye, and an idea struck me. Casually, I strolled over to it, keeping my back to the camera poised over the doorway. I poured myself a cup of coffee then set aside the empty pot. Before anyone else could walk in, I grabbed a stack of coffee filters, shoved them onto the hot burner, and replaced the pot so that they were less visible. Then I grabbed my black cup of coffee and left the room.
I slipped into the nearby bathroom to wait. Just as I closed and locked the stall door, the burner phone notified me of a text message from Lauren.
Any luck?
I typed back: Possibly. Keep you posted.
I tucked the phone away and settled in to wait, rifling through the possible outcomes of my
