Page 24 of Beyond the Hedge Maze

With a soured attitude, he got in the shower and began getting ready for work.

If the job at Emerson was a prison sentence, a suit was his straight jacket, and the Tube was the van hauling him away. After years of around the clock athletic wear, he hated the loss of mobility in his limbs, and he hated the claustrophobic feeling the underground brought him. It wasn’t natural to sit shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh, stealing the breath from your neighbor forty meters beneath the Earth.

Emerson Enterprises was located centrally in the Square Mile surrounded by the rest of the stiffs in their respective uniforms, working towards goals unknown. Scanning his badge, he took the elevator up to the top floor and said a quick hello to the receptionist on his way to his office. Every day it was the same routine for the past two years.

His officemate, and current one-sided arch nemesis, Charlotte Taylor, was already there bright and early, tapping away on her laptop. Charlotte lived and breathed Emerson Enterprises. She was intelligent, witty, and driven beyond Jesse’s comprehension. She also hated him.

“Late again?” she asked, not bothering to spare him a glance from her computer.

He dumped his backpack on the ground, wincing at the sound of his laptop hitting the floor. “Charlotte, for just once can we not? Can we please just not?”

“Oh, I see. Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. Well, while you were sleeping in, I took the liberty to check out those spoons that had been stumping you. Honestly, Jesse, there’s a manufacturer's stamp on the ladle. I can’t believe you missed that.”

He hadn’t missed it. That had been the epiphany.

Jesse tried not to take Charlotte’s hatred personally. They had both started their jobs on the same day a little over two years prior, and the nepotism in Jesse’s favor was clear as day. She was miles ahead of him both in intelligence and motivation, and yet was firmly at the bottom of the pecking order, even though she consistently put in more time and effort. Jesse would hate himself, too, if he was her.

There was a knock on the doorframe of their shared office as Jesse was rooting around his backpack for his computer. From the corner of his eye, he saw Charlotte straighten, always ready and alert. Not a blonde hair on her head was out of place, her dress perfectly pressed and neat. He looked like a floundering disappointment in comparison with his wrinkled dress pants, and hair too long and unruly for corporate consumption.

At the door was Jesse’s cousin, Simon Emerson, who didn’t at all look like a man who was suffocating beneath his clothes. Simon was nearly ten years older, married, and was the clear choice to one day run the London office. While Jesse’s grandfather was an active participant in Chicago matters, Simon’s grandfather had long passed, leaving the business to his son and grandson.

“Meeting in ten minutes. We have a new account to discuss,” Simon barked. “Charlotte, the coffee pot is empty. If you could fix that before we all meet, that would be fantastic.”

The second Simon was gone, Jesse watched Charlotte’s shoulders slump from the corner of his eye.

“I’ll go handle the coffee, Char. I was headed that way, anyway.”

In a soft voice, she muttered her thanks, and Jesse hoped this small gesture would keep her from using the Victorian spoons as a weapon later in the day.

Ten minutes later, Simon, Charlotte, and Jesse were huddled in the boardroom with a handful of the lower level staff members.

Simon started the meeting and stood at the front of the conference room behind a podium. To his left was a large television used to screen their presentations. “I’ve called you all in to discuss a new client who has signed with the firm. Unfortunately for one of you, it will be a rather time intensive account, and due to our limited resources—” Simon spat the words with annoyance, “—we simply cannot afford to lose any of our more senior personnel.”

Jesse turned to look at Charlotte, who appeared equally confused while Simon struggled to connect his laptop to the television and pull up the slide deck.

While he fumbled with the cables, Simon continued his explanation. “The client wants a full evaluation of his manor home. Everything in the house is to be cataloged, and then we will facilitate the sale of certain high value assets.” After another failed attempt, Simon groaned and impatiently gestured to Charlotte who dutifully got up and properly connected the computer.

The screen flickered to life, and Jesse’s breath caught in his throat. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

In all her castle-like glory was an image of Chapman House.

His heart began to beat erratically. Images of the summer he spent there flashed back through his mind in rapid succession, along with all the feelings that came with it. Grief, love, heartbreak, happiness. They hit him like a freight train as he struggled to breathe.

“Anyway,” Simon proceeded, “this is Chapman House, located in Gloucestershire. Historically owned by the Catesby Family and constructed in 1754, the estate has, within the last couple of years, changed hands, and the new owner, Oliver Catesby, has engaged our services.” Jesse was sure he was having a heart attack as Simon continued. “The house has a grand total of fifty-seven unique rooms which include nineteen bedrooms, twenty-three bathrooms, servants quarters, and a ballroom. It sits on roughly 1,500 acres of land, some of which is leased by local farmers. The estate also includes an extensive garden and a large lake.”

And a hedge maze, Jesse thought.

Charlotte cocked her head to the side. “I don’t know if I follow. All they want is a catalog? Of the entire home? That’ll take weeks, if not months. Surely that’s not the most effective way to spend our time.”

Simon nonchalantly waved his hand. “Sounds like he’s gearing up for a bloody fire sale, if you ask me. I’ve been told he’s not interested in any other income generating measures.”

The occupants in the room fidgeted, hoping to go unnoticed. No one wanted this job. Meanwhile, Charlotte barreled on, clearly annoyed like she had already been told the assignment was hers. “So you’re wanting one of us to, what? Move there and spend ten hours a day with some crusty Lord, taking stock of all his possessions?”

Jesse bristled and opened his mouth to correct her. Oliver was not crusty.

“That’s exactly what we’re expecting.” Arthur Emerson entered the conference room, and Charlotte winced at his tone. It wouldn’t earn her any favors to turn down work from Simon or Arthur. “While this may sound like a…tedious assignment, it will no doubt be a valuable learning experience. The late Lord was a friend of the company, and we will be doing this primarily as a favor to the family and his grandson.”

His grandson. Oliver. Oliver. Oliver.