Grant sat behind his desk, unaware of her presence. A desk lamp illuminated his face, revealing something she had never seen: grief. In his hands was an old photograph, his fingers trembling as silent tears slid down his cheeks. The powerful man she feared looked utterly broken.
Emily stood still, unsure whether to retreat. Then Grant looked up. Their eyes met.
“I—I’m sorry, sir,” she said quickly. “I didn’t know you were here. I can come back later.”
He wiped his face, composed himself, and slid the photo into a drawer. “No,” he said hoarsely. “You can finish.”
She cleaned quietly, aware of his gaze following her. It wasn’t suspicion—it felt like recognition.
“How long have you worked here?” he asked suddenly.
“A few months,” Emily replied.
“And before that?”
She explained her previous jobs. He nodded, studying her face.
“Do you have family in the city?”
“No,” she said softly. “I don’t have family.”
His reaction startled her—his hands tightened on the desk, eyes darkening.
“Do you know anything about your biological family?” he asked quietly.
That was too much. “Sir, I don’t understand why you’re asking.”