We finally, much to my grimace, reached the office of the head honcho himself.

  The locals call him a miracle worker—a prestigious member of our society, humbler than John D.! Yet I’ve always felt that no one truly knows this enigma of a man.

  We just call him Mr. Brim—the local startup steel manufacturer who’s somehow created a mighty fine product. It’s just... strange. The steel is a little unordinary. I really can’t say why, but it sells well—like the town harlot on a payday.

  I knock on the door with subtle reverence—three times.

  He replies, in a calm, subtle tone, “I’ve been expecting you. Please, come inside.”

  The door creaked open, revealing Mr. Brim seated behind a wide iron desk that looked like it had been salvaged from a battleship.

  He was a wiry man, not tall, but the kind whose presence filled a room regardless. His suit was charcoal-black, pressed sharp enough to slice through red tape, with a steel lapel pin shaped like a flame—subtle branding, subtle threat. His hair was slicked back with a discipline that bordered on military, not a strand out of place, and his eyes—gray, calculating—glinted like freshly forged metal.

  Everything about him looked deliberate. Controlled. Manufactured for effect, like the product he sold.

  His hands were folded neatly on the desk, unmoving, like he’d been waiting for us for hours—or like he never moved unless it was absolutely necessary

  In my nervousness, I spoke up. “Sir… what is it that you need from us? We’re not exactly equipped to recover what was lost.”

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  He didn’t move, just tilted his head slightly, eyes fixed on mine. “No. You’re exactly what I need.”

  I blinked, confused. “Then… what exactly do you require of us?”

  His voice was soft, almost reassuring. “Loyalty. Obedience. Results.” He smiled faintly, but there was no warmth in it. “I’m not asking you to be perfect—I’m asking you to be useful. And right now, that means fulfilling your responsibilities.”

  I stammered, “What should we do?”

  “Investigate,” he said, like he was offering helpful advice. “Find what was lost. Identify the spy. Do it before the military starts asking questions they’re not polite enough to whisper.”

  He leaned back in his chair, folding his hands as if he were discussing weekend plans. “You see, Jason… what I’m asking? Anyone could do it. But I came to you first. That should mean something.”

  His smile returned, thinner this time. “Of course… don’t expect this to end with a simple firing if you fail.”

  Then, as if switching subjects entirely, he added, “Now—send Lex into my office on your way out.”

  As I turned to leave, I caught one last glance over my shoulder. Mr. Brim was still watching me—calm, still, and smiling.

  A smile like a man sending off a dear friend on his final voyage, knowing full well the ship was headed straight into a storm.

  Transition to Lobby:

  After those uncomfortable five minutes, I came to a grim realization: I am completely and utterly screwed.

  I believe I’m a dead man walking, and at this point, I’m just hoping that the golden-retriever-of-a-partner I’ve got can somehow save me before I’m royally destroyed.

  Pray to the Father, the Spirit, and the Holy Mother.

  After my perfunctory prayer—like a weak halo—I see Lex emerge from the office, grinning as if he just got offered a promotion instead of brushed against the shadow of death.

  Somehow, that smile is... disconcerting. He was in there. With HIM.

  Lex, ever the concerned puppy, asks, “You okay, my friend? The boss said he’s gonna vacate through the back door in the office and let us investigate.”

  I blink. “A back door? I didn’t see a back door.”

  Lex just smiled at that. Too casually.

  I muttered under my breath, “Creepy,” and let it slide. Corporate secrets... and the like.

  Either way, we had a job to do. It was time to step into the lion’s den and check the safe.