“Promise?”
“Yes.”
She seems satisfied by that.
After a quick kiss on the forehead, I extricate myself from the pillow fort with considerably less grace than I entered it, put my shoes back on, and stand in the middle of her bedroom, staring down at the tablecloth canopy and the small person inside it who is currently bestowing her knight with a far more competent sword than the one I provided.
The small smile on my lips lingers as I start for the hall that leads to my office.
“Papa.”
I stop.
“Your sword was actually not that bad.”
I let my smile fill out for her. “Thank you,malyshka.”
Then I turn toward my office.
Mikhail is already there.
He’s standing by the window with his hands clasped behind his back, watching the grounds with a practiced, patient stillness.
He’s sixty-two. Silver hair, lean build, dark blue eyes that process information faster than most computers. He was my father’s right hand. Before that, he was my grandfather’s. He’s been in this family longer than I’ve been alive, and he’s the only person in this organization whose loyalty I don’t question.
“Do you have the candidates?” I ask, sitting behind my desk.
He crosses the room and sets three folders on the right and another bunch on the left. Each one is thick. Not an agency’s paperwork, but Mikhail’s.
Background checks, financial records, social media analyses, and psychological profiles compiled by a former FSB behavioral analyst we keep on retainer.
This is what my life does to everything it touches. It transforms the ordinary into an operation.
“Three finalists from the original two hundred and twelve applicants,” Mikhail announces. “All have cleared the preliminary security screening, the educational assessment, and the psychological evaluation. None have criminal records, outstanding warrants, or affiliations with any organization on our watch list.”
I open the first folder. Margaret Swanson. Forty-one. PhD in Early Childhood Education from Northwestern. Fifteen years of experience. Impeccable references. I scan the profile. The financials, the social connections. Clean, stable, professional. A candidate who’s perfect on paper and will treat this position as a job, nothing more.
Second folder. Diana Okafor. Thirty-five. British. Former Montessori director who relocated to Chicago for her husband’s career. Multilingual. Strong methodology. Financial profile is solid with dual income, no debts, no leverage points.
No leverage points.Every person in my daughter’s orbit is assessed not only for competence but for vulnerability. What do they need? What are they afraid of? What could someone use to turn them?
It’s not paranoia. It’s Katarina’s legacy. She taught me that the people closest to you are the most dangerous, not necessarily because they want to hurt you, but because someone else can use them to do it.
I open the third folder. Same, nothing that I could use. I flip through the other candidates, not sure what I’m digging for.
Eventually, one of the bigger reports catches my attention.
Elizabeth Calloway. Twenty-six. Boston University, Bachelor’s in Education. Three years of experience, all at a single public school on the South Side. Lincoln Elementary.
The photo is a standard agency headshot, with professional lighting and a careful smile. Dark hair, hazel eyes, a face that’s trying hard to project competence and can’t quite hide the exhaustion below. She’s young. Pretty.
I turn the page.
The financial profile hits differently.
Credit score: 512. Checking account balance: $47. Savings: $0. Monthly debt obligations: $4,200.
Total outstanding debt: $478,540, held across three unsecured loans.
