Chapter 2 - Talon Tower
The lobby of Talon Tower looked less like an office building and more like a modern fortress built by a Bond villain. Polished black marble reflected the harsh morning glare of crystal chandeliers, and security guards wore tactical earpieces while eyeing my faded thrift-store boots with undisguised contempt.
I checked my watch: 7:59 AM.
"Rue Callaway to see Harlan Voss," I told the receptionist, whose hair was styled into a terrifyingly rigid bun.
Without looking up from her screen, she pressed a button on her desk. "Mr. Voss is busy. Leave your contact info and—"
"She’s right on time."
The heavy oak doors of the private elevator bank glided open. Harlan Voss stood there, impeccably dressed in a navy three-piece suit, his silver-streaked dark hair combed back with ruthless precision. He didn't smile. He didn't need to.
"Follow me," he instructed, turning his back instantly.
I hurried to keep pace as we stepped into a private elevator that bypassed the upper floors entirely, rocketing upward toward the penthouse suite. The glass walls of the office offered a panoramic view of a gray, smoggy Detroit skyline. But the view inside was far more intimidating.
Harlan walked behind a massive mahogany desk, sat down, and folded his hands. He didn't offer me a seat.
"Dr. Althaus says Belle’s core temperature had dropped to dangerous levels," Harlan began, his voice flat and clinical. "If you had waited five more minutes, or if you had tried to move her improperly, her heart would have given out."
"I did what anyone would do," I said, crossing my arms defensively to mask my shaking hands.
"No, Rue. Most people look away. You didn't." He slid a manila folder across the polished wood. "I had my people look into your background last night. Eviction notice from a slumlord on Cass Avenue. Fired from your waitressing job this morning because your manager is a petty tyrant. Bank balance: zero. You are completely, utterly destitute."
The humiliation hit me like a physical blow. "If you brought me up here just to humiliate me—"
"I brought you up here to make a business proposition," he interrupted, opening the folder. "Open it."
With trembling fingers, I lifted the cover. Inside lay a stack of documents, a set of heavy brass keys, and a black credit card.
"What is this?" I breathed.
May you like
"Your new life," Harlan said quietly. "A fully paid-off loft in Corktown, all your back rent cleared, and a salary of ten thousand dollars a month. The job description is simple: you are Belle’s private companion and guardian. You keep her safe, you feed her on schedule, and you never, ever let her out of your sight."
I stared at the papers, my mind spinning wildly. It sounded like a dream, but coming from a man like Harlan Voss, I knew fairy tales always came with a hidden cage.
