08-02-2024, 10:48 PM
She was resourceful, he agreed, and either fearless or foolish to take such a risk. There must have been many careful steps between an idea and donning the uniform of a waitress, and each one likely flaunted legality at best and her life at worst. Not a single person on his staff nor security suspected the demure waitress was any more than a passing dalliance to him, and he intended to keep it that way regardless of the outcome.
He was already planning ahead while she spoke, filtering through names in his mind to whom he would trust such a task. It would need to be kept quiet, calm, with as little detail as possible provided to the investigator. The testing would need to be conducted on their own secure networks, he was sure, which left him with the perfect candidate. She cared next to nothing about politics and power, not unless it was to flex it within her own laboratory walls, and she had already proven her discretion multiple times over.
Although distracted by plans, a hint crossed the threshold of his thoughts, plucking his attention quite firmly back to the present moment. “Mariam is dead?” he asked, the surprise not withheld from the question. Her affirmation whiplashed his thoughts to the distant past; earthquakes and worse. “Yes, tragic,” he agreed with the sound of one accustomed to rote messaging long played out.
Providing her name cemented the potential in his mind. He would find out, either way. Though he could not anticipate his response to either outcome, there was no point dwelling on it until the truth was known. He stood, gauging the way she moved, seeking any semblance of familiarity in her motions. “What happens next is someone will be in touch; after that is up to fate.”
He studied her a moment longer, as though it may be the last time, and paused at the door. "If I don't see you again, Nesrin, best of luck with the... waitressing," he said, hinting at their shared understanding, then departed.
He was already planning ahead while she spoke, filtering through names in his mind to whom he would trust such a task. It would need to be kept quiet, calm, with as little detail as possible provided to the investigator. The testing would need to be conducted on their own secure networks, he was sure, which left him with the perfect candidate. She cared next to nothing about politics and power, not unless it was to flex it within her own laboratory walls, and she had already proven her discretion multiple times over.
Although distracted by plans, a hint crossed the threshold of his thoughts, plucking his attention quite firmly back to the present moment. “Mariam is dead?” he asked, the surprise not withheld from the question. Her affirmation whiplashed his thoughts to the distant past; earthquakes and worse. “Yes, tragic,” he agreed with the sound of one accustomed to rote messaging long played out.
Providing her name cemented the potential in his mind. He would find out, either way. Though he could not anticipate his response to either outcome, there was no point dwelling on it until the truth was known. He stood, gauging the way she moved, seeking any semblance of familiarity in her motions. “What happens next is someone will be in touch; after that is up to fate.”
He studied her a moment longer, as though it may be the last time, and paused at the door. "If I don't see you again, Nesrin, best of luck with the... waitressing," he said, hinting at their shared understanding, then departed.