Chapter 2

The other candidates, the ones with eagles and sunsets, were dismissed with brutal efficiency. Their faces showed shock, then despair. Harsher acquisition terms for their family companies, the whispers said.

I waited for my turn, for the axe to fall.

Instead, Mr. Alistair Finch, Damien Stryker's chief of staff, a man who looked like he was born in a tailored suit, approached me.

"Ms. Chen, Mr. Stryker was impressed by your... directness."

Finch's eyebrow twitched, almost imperceptibly.

"He has decided to promote you. You will be his personal project assistant. The only one from this program."

Promoted? To what? Chief coffee fetcher for the corporate overlord?

"This is... an honor," I managed, my voice carefully neutral.

My new "office" was a small desk just outside Damien Stryker's imposing suite. The man himself was a whirlwind of silent intensity.

My tasks were as menial as I'd feared.

"Ava, organize the archives in sub-sector Gamma. They are chronologically misfiled."

His intercom crackled. "And Chen, bring me a coffee. Colombian blend, 192 degrees Fahrenheit, two raw sugar cubes, stirred counter-clockwise three times."

I caught my breath. Had I thought that last part too loud?

I glanced towards his closed door. Silence.

The coffee machine in his private kitchenette was a beast, capable of a thousand variations. I meticulously followed his ridiculous instructions.

When I brought it in, he was staring at a complex financial model on a vast screen.

He took the cup without looking at me.

"The archives, Chen. They contain proprietary algorithms from a decade ago. Not Stone Age, just secure."

My stomach dropped.

He sipped the coffee. "And it' s clockwise. For optimal sugar crystal dissolution."

He still didn't look at me, but I could feel a smirk in his voice.

He knew. He somehow knew what I was thinking.

This wasn't an internship, it was a psychological experiment, and I was the rat.