Until now.
That twitch. That almost-smile.
I’m already dialing.
Mikhail picks up on the second ring. “Yes.”
“I’ve chosen the new governess.” A beat of silence.
“The woman in the living room.” My voice is flat. Final. But my pulse is still spiked. “The one who’s still in the house. She’s the one.”
Another silence. Longer this time.
“That’s not possible,” Mikhail says carefully. “All candidates have been dismissed. The selection?—”
“Camera eleven.”
I hear the faint click of keys as he accesses the feed.
“Shit,” he grumbles. “She asked to use the bathroom. She must have gotten lost.” His tone shifts to the professional assessment voice. “Rolan, that’s the Calloway woman. She’s the highest risk profile...”
“She’s also the one Anya chose. She made my daughter smile.”
“What about her background?” he asks.
“It’s as clean as someone in her situation could be. No criminal record, no affiliations, no connections to anyone on our watch list. She’s not a plant. She’s just…” I search for the right word. “Desperate.”
“Desperate people are unpredictable.”
“Desperate people are loyal. They don’t have the luxury of alternatives.”
A sigh.
“I’ll process the paperwork,” he concedes. “Start date?”
“Saturday. She moves in. Sunday for orientation. Monday, she starts.”
“That’s fast.”
“Anya’s been alone for weeks. That’s too long.” I pause. “And run a separate check on the lender. Landon Webb. I want to know his operation, his network, his exposure. Not for Calloway. For us. If he’s running predatory finance on the South Side, his operation might intersect with networks we’re already watching.”
It’s a lie, and we both know it. I don’t care about Landon Webb’s business model or his network intersections. I care about the fact that my daughter’s soon-to-be tutor owes half a million dollars to a man who operates in the same gray economy I do.
That’s a loose thread, and I don’t leave loose threads.
At least, that’s what I tell myself. Loose threads. Professional due diligence.
“One more thing,” I say. “The offer. Don’t send it yet.”
“When?”
“Send the rejection first.”
He’s silent again, probably waiting for an explanation. “You want to reject her before you hire her?”
“I want the agency to send the standard rejection email. Automated. The same one that the other two hundred applicants received. Then, four hours later, a text from a private number with the offer. Different channel, personal, direct.”
“Why?”
