Chapter 1 - The Stranger I Thought Was Another Nervous Applicant
Twelve minutes into waiting for the most important job interview of my life, I leaned toward the stranger beside me and whispered, “You here for the interview too?” A few minutes later, the receptionist went pale, called him “Mr. Vale,” and I realized I had just coached one of the most feared men in Chicago on how not to look intimidating.
The man beside me looked late thirties, tall, perfectly dressed in black, and far too composed to belong in the same nervous lobby as me. Still, he had been staring at the elevator doors for so long that I assumed he was just better at hiding panic.
“You’ve been glaring at that elevator for ten minutes,” I said. “Either you’re waiting for an interview or planning to threaten it.”
He slowly turned his head.
“Something like that.”
Relief escaped me in a breath. “Good. I thought I was the only one pretending not to panic.”
His eyebrow lifted. “You think I’m panicking?”
“You’re staring at that elevator like it owes you money.”
For one second, silence stretched between us.
Then the corner of his mouth moved.
That tiny reaction encouraged me more than it should have.
“I’m Emma.”
“Roman.”
We shook hands, and his grip was firm, controlled, almost unnervingly calm.
“Management?” I asked.
“Why?”
“You look like you’ve already fired someone today.”
A quiet sound escaped him.
I pointed at him. “That. Do more of that in the interview.”
“I should smile?”
“Not too much. Then you’ll look suspicious.”
He leaned back. “Do you often give unsolicited advice to strangers?”
“Only when I’m trying not to think about my own professional humiliation.”
What I didn’t notice was the receptionist suddenly watching us.
Or the three men near the glass doors turning their heads when I casually touched Roman’s sleeve.
Or security staring down from the mezzanine like I had just walked into traffic blindfolded.
I was interviewing for an executive assistant position at Vale Holdings, a forty-two-story Chicago empire built on logistics, hotels, warehouses, and real estate. Officially, the company belonged to one of the wealthiest businessmen in the Midwest.
Unofficially, everyone had heard the stories.
Men who threatened Vale and disappeared from the business world.
Deals that ended overnight.
Restaurants where certain names were spoken only in whispers.
I had heard those stories too.
Apparently, I had never bothered to learn Roman Vale’s face.
“I practiced interview answers all morning,” I told him.
“Such as?”
“Why I want to work here.”
“And?”
I lowered my voice. “Something respectable about professional growth.”
“You don’t mean it.”
“I mean I need health insurance, and my landlord has developed a spiritual connection to rent increases.”
Roman laughed.
Actually laughed.
“At least you’re honest.”
“I won’t be honest in there. Corporate interviews punish honesty.”
He watched me with growing interest. “Interesting.”
Then he noticed me looking at his empty hands.
“You didn’t bring a résumé.”
“I don’t need one.”
I blinked. “That confident?”
“Something like that.”
“Well, confidence is fine, but stop crossing your arms.”
He looked down. “Why?”
“You look intimidating.”
“I am intimidating.”
I laughed, assuming it was a joke. “That attitude is going to get you rejected.”
Roman stared at me strangely.
Then the receptionist approached.
Her face had gone pale.
“Mr. Vale.”
My lungs stopped working.
Roman stood as she swallowed hard. “The executive committee is ready for you, sir.”
I looked at the silver logo behind the desk.
VALE HOLDINGS.
Then at him.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“As in Roman Vale?”
“Unfortunately.”
Every rumor I had ever heard crashed into my head at once.
Owner.
Billionaire.
Mafia boss.
And I had just told him he looked unemployed.
Roman took two steps away, then stopped.
“Emma.”
I lowered my hands from my face.
“For what it’s worth, your advice was better than what most of my executives give me.”
Then he uncrossed his arms.
“And you were right about one thing.”
“What?”
“I do look intimidating.”
He disappeared into the elevator.
I remained frozen.
The receptionist stared at me.
“Are you all right?”
“No.”
She looked sympathetic.
“You may still have an interview.”
“That's the problem.”
The elevator doors closed.
I sat there wondering whether Chicago had a law against dying from embarrassment.
Ten minutes later, someone called my name.
“Emma Carter?”
I stood.
A silver-haired woman in a cream suit gestured toward the hallway.
“I’m Miriam Foster. Human Resources.”
She smiled.
“Mr. Vale would like to interview you himself.”
My stomach dropped.
“Personally?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
She tilted her head.
“You should ask him.”
I followed her into a boardroom.
Roman sat at the head of the table.
No suit jacket now.
Black shirt.
Watch.
Hands folded.
He looked nothing like the man who had joked with me in the lobby.
The warmth was gone.
This was the Roman Vale everyone feared.
The room suddenly made sense.
Every person sat straighter.
Nobody spoke unless he asked them something.
I took the chair across from him.
He glanced at my résumé.
“You have no experience working directly for a chief executive.”
“No.”
“You changed industries twice.”
“Yes.”
“You've been unemployed for four months.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
I hesitated.
Because my previous employer had stolen money.
Because when I reported it, I was fired.
Because I had spent the last four months burning through savings while pretending to my mother that everything was fine.
Instead I said, “The company failed and I became inconvenient.”
Roman looked at me.
“Inconvenient?”
“They wanted me to approve invoices I knew were fake.”
Silence.
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because fake invoices are fake.”
Someone at the far end of the table shifted.
Roman leaned back.
“What would you do if an executive ordered you to approve something you knew was wrong?”
“Ask them to put the instruction in writing.”
One of the executives almost smiled.
Roman did.
“What if they refused?”
“I'd refuse.”
“What if your job depended on it?”
“It already did.”
He studied me.
“You'd choose unemployment?”
“I'd choose not getting arrested.”
A quiet laugh moved through the room.
Roman stared at me for three seconds.
Then he laughed too.
“Good.”
The interview lasted nearly an hour.
He asked me about scheduling.
Crisis management.
Conflict resolution.
Confidential information.
And one question that confused me.
“What do you do when everyone around you is afraid to tell the person in charge the truth?”
I answered without thinking.
“Tell them anyway.”
His expression changed.
“Even if the person in charge can ruin you?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because eventually the truth gets more expensive.”
He stared at me.
Something in his eyes turned almost unreadable.
Then he asked me to leave.
I walked into the hallway.
Five minutes later, Miriam appeared.
“You're hired.”
I blinked.
“What?”
“You start Monday.”
“That's it?”
“Mr. Vale doesn't usually explain his decisions.”
She handed me a folder.
I took it.
Then hesitated.
“Can I ask something?”
“Of course.”
“Does he always scare people like that?”
Miriam's smile became strange.
“Yes.”
“Great.”
“And Emma?”
“Yes?”
“Don't call him Roman in front of the board.”
I stared at her.
“But he told me his name was Roman.”
She laughed softly.
“That does not mean everyone else is allowed to use it.”
Monday morning, I arrived at Vale Holdings at 7:15.
I expected chaos.
Instead, everything was unnervingly quiet.
People moved quickly.
Phones stopped ringing whenever Roman entered a hallway.
Executives lowered their voices.
Security watched everything.
I was escorted to the top floor.
My desk stood outside his office.
A man named David Hale handed me a tablet.
“Schedule management.”
“Okay.”
“Travel.”
“Okay.”
“Calls.”
“Okay.”
“Meetings you should prevent.”
I blinked.
“Prevent?”
David looked serious.
“Absolutely.”
“Such as?”
He lowered his voice.
“Anyone who makes him angry.”
“That's vague.”
“It is intentionally vague.”
Before I could ask another question, Roman opened his door.
“Emma.”
I entered.
He pointed toward the chair.
“Sit.”
I sat.
He slid a stack of papers toward me.
“These are today's meetings.”
I scanned them.
“Six.”
“Seven.”
“There are seven.”
He nodded.
“I count eight.”
I looked again.
There was a private meeting listed at 10:30.
“Who's the eighth?”
“Delete it.”
“Why?”
“Because I said so.”
I looked up.
“That's not enough information.”
Silence filled the office.
The same silence I had heard in the boardroom.
Roman slowly leaned back.
“Most people don't question me.”
“Most people don't have to manage your calendar.”
His eyebrows rose.
I immediately regretted saying it.
Then he smiled.
That tiny, dangerous smile.
“Move the meeting.”
“Where?”
“Cemetery.”
I stared.
“Are you serious?”
“Yes.”
I typed.
Then paused.
“Which cemetery?”
“The one on Ashland.”
I entered it.
“There. Done.”
He watched me.
“Any more questions?”
“Yes.”
“Go on.”
“Do I need a bodyguard?”
His smile disappeared.
“Why would you?”
“Because everyone here looks at me like I walked into a shark tank.”
“You did.”
I swallowed.
“Should I leave?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because yesterday was the first time someone sat next to me without knowing who I was and told me I looked nervous.”
I stared at him.
“I wasn't nervous.”
“I know.”
“Then why were you staring at the elevator?”
“Someone was supposed to come out.”
“Did they?”
“No.”
“Should I ask?”
“No.”
I stood.
“Okay.”
“Emma.”
“Yes?”
“You're going to hear things.”
“About you?”
“About this company.”
“What should I believe?”
“Nothing you hear.”
I smiled faintly.
“That's terrible advice.”
“You gave me better advice.”
“Then maybe we should trade.”
He looked amused.
“You'll do fine here.”
I left the office.
I didn't know it then, but that sentence would become one of the most important promises Roman Vale had ever made.
Because by the end of that month, I would discover the company wasn't merely hiding a criminal empire.
May you like
Someone inside Vale Holdings was trying to destroy Roman from the inside.
And somehow, my name was already written in the file.
