Old society pages. A photo with an ex-girlfriend. A fundraiser. A charity auction. A shot of him getting out of a black car outside some absurdly exclusive hotel, expression unreadable, bodyguards at a discreet distance.
Bodyguards. Normal billionaires have security.
They don’t usually have men trying to kidnap their assistants.
I sit back in my chair, chewing on the inside of my cheek.
No. Something is off here.
I close the browser and glance around the office.
People are working. Typing. Laughing quietly. Moving through the space like this is any normal corporate floor in any normal Manhattan building. But now that I’m looking for it, I can see little things I missed before. The way certain doors are always locked. The way some men in suits aren’t really office workers at all. The way conversations sometimes stop when I get too close.
I stand and head for the break room.
Lina is there, stirring sugar into a coffee and scrolling on her phone. She looks up when I come in and smiles, but it fades almost immediately when she sees my face.
“That bad, huh?”
I lean against the counter. “Can I ask you something?”
“That depends,” she says cautiously. “Is it work-related?”
“Sort of.”
She gives me a look that says she already knows it isn’t.
I lower my voice. “What do you actually know about Mr. Vasiliev?”
Her spoon stops moving. Just for a second.
Then she starts stirring again, too casually. “What do you mean?”
“I mean…” I search for the least insane version of the truth. “He said some things last night that made me think he has… bigger problems than quarterly reports.”
Lina’s eyes flick to mine, then away. “Zee.”
That one word carries a warning.
I push anyway. “People keep saying he’s not like other bosses. Vivian acts like his office is a sacred temple. Security guards look like they’d rather swallow nails than make him angry. So what is it? Is he ex-military? Mob-adjacent? Secret vampire?”
That gets the tiniest huff of laughter out of her, but it disappears almost instantly. “I don’t know anything,” she says.
It’s too quick.
“You’re lying.”
“I’m being smart.”
I stare at her. “That’s not reassuring.”
She sets her spoon down and lowers her voice. “Look, Zee. I like you. So I’m telling you this as a friend, not HR. Stop asking around about him.”
That makes my pulse jump. “Why?”
Her mouth tightens. “Because nobody here is going to answer. And the fact that you’re asking at all means you’re already too curious.”
I fold my arms. “That is not a real explanation.”
