Chapter 10: The Office Interrogation
The email from Lisa’s assistant arrived at 7:03 AM.Meeting confirmed: 10:00 AM, Lisa Creston, Human Resources. James showered in a daze, the water too hot, then too cold. He put on his best button-down, a grey one Stacy had picked out, and felt like a fraud wearing it.
The corporate office was a monument to glass and whispered ambition. James rode the elevator to the 12th floor, his gut tight. He’d only ever seen Lisa in pixelated videos, a figure of authority and complicit pleasure.Walking towards her domain felt like stepping into the screen.
Her corner office was a sun-drenched cage. The blinds were half-drawn, cutting the skyline into strips of light and shadow.The air smelled of jasmine and ozone from a purifier humming in the corner. Lisa sat behind a vast chrome desk, typing. Her red hair was a precise helmet, her suit jacket tailored to emphasize her curves. She looked up, and her smile didn’t touch her eyes.“James.Come in.Shut the door, please.”
He did. The click of the latch was final.“Have a seat.” She gestured to a low leather chair opposite her. He sat, feeling like a child.“Your email was… curious. Credentials for the retreat are a serious matter. They’re not just reissued.” She leaned forward, elbows on the desk.“Why can’t you find yours?”
Her gaze was a physical pressure. This was a test.He had the trigger phrase loaded in his mind, a linguistic bullet. But he had to get closer.The retreat packet would be on her computer, or in a drawer. He needed her distracted.“I’m disorganized,” he said, forcing a sheepish grin. “It’s been a stressful few months. Planning the wedding, you know?” The lie tasted like ash.Lisa’s expression didn’t change.“I’ve seen the invite list. Stacy is attending. You aren’t listed as her plus-one.”
A cold trickle of sweat traced his spine.“Right.We… we had a fight.About it. I was supposed to get my own packet.I think I threw it out by accident.” He was talking too fast. “I just really don’t want to miss it.Team building. It’s important.”
She watched him, a predator assessing a twitching rabbit. Then she sighed, a performative sound of bureaucratic weariness.“I can pull up the master list. But I’ll need to verify you with the retreat coordinator.” She turned to her computer, her fingers poised over the keyboard.Now.
James stood up slowly.“Lisa.”
She glanced back, annoyed. “I’m working on it.”
He took two steps around the side of her desk, putting him just behind her shoulder. The perfume was stronger here, cloying.He leaned down, as if to look at her screen. His lips were close to her ear.He could see the fine hairs at her temple. He breathed in, then whispered, the words soft and clear.
“Friendly massage.”
The effect was instantaneous and grotesque.Her poised stiffness melted.Her shoulders dropped, her head lolled slightly to the side. A dreamy, vacant smile smoothed her sharp features.“Oh,” she sighed. “That sounds lovely.”
His hands moved on autopilot, guided by a dark curiosity that sickened him even as it thrilled him. He placed his palms on her shoulders, feeling the crisp cotton of her blouse, the warm flesh beneath.He kneaded, his thumbs digging into the muscle. She moaned, a soft, pleasure-filled sound that echoed in the quiet office.
“That’s so good,” she murmured, her eyes fluttering closed.His heart hammered against his ribs. He slid his hands down, over the swell of her breasts. He cupped them through the fabric, feeling their weight, the stiff points of her nipples.She arched her back, pushing into his touch. “Yes,” she breathed.With his right hand still groping her, his left reached for her keyboard. Her computer screen showed the retreat master spreadsheet.His fingers, practiced and quick, navigated. He found the entry for ‘James Weir – Engineering.’ He hit print. The printer in the corner whirred to life.
“You have such tense muscles,” he heard himself say, his voice a stranger’s. He slid one hand under her jacket, under her blouse, finding the hot skin of her stomach.She gasped, her hips shifting in the chair.The printer finished. He needed the physical pass.His eyes scanned the desk.A drawer was slightly ajar. He pulled it open, careful not to jostle her. Inside were neat trays of stationery, and a stack of blank RFID passes on lanyards.He took one.
“Just a little deeper,” Lisa purred, her head rolling back against his stomach. Her hand came up and clutched at his wrist, holding his hand against her breast.He extracted himself, gently prying her fingers loose. “Shhh,” he whispered.He stepped back, the printed itinerary and the blank pass in his left hand. He stuffed them into his jacket’s inner pocket.
Lisa was slumped in her chair, blouse rumpled, a flush spreading down her neck.She looked utterly debauched.Used. The reality of it hit him like a physical blow.He had done this. He was not just an observer anymore.
He took two silent steps back, then louder, said, “Thanks for your help, Lisa.”
She blinked slowly, the dreamy expression lingering. She straightened, patting her hair as if waking from a nap.“Of course,” she said, her voice still soft. “You should… you should get to your team. The bus leaves at four.” There was no suspicion in her eyes, only a post-coital haze.“Right,” James said. He was at the door, his hand on the handle.“James?” she called softly.He froze.
“That was… a lovely massage.”
He didn’t reply. He opened the door and walked out, the cool air of the hallway a shock.He didn’t look back. He walked past the assistant, past the glass walls, his steps echoing, until he found a deserted hallway bathroom. He locked himself in a stall, bent over the toilet, and dry-heaved.Nothing came up.His body shook.
After minutes, he stood.He pulled the papers from his pocket. The printout detailed everything: a luxury resort three hours north, room 237, itinerary packed with seminars and “team synergy” exercises.The blank pass was just a white card with a magnetic strip and a chip.
He held it up to the sterile fluorescent light.It was a key.Not just to a hotel room. To everything.To watching the system work in real time. To seeing Stacy, and others, moving to their hidden programming.To finding the source.
He thought of Lisa’s hazy, satisfied smile.He thought of Stacy in the supply closet. His reflection in the polished metal of the stall door looked pale, haunted, but the eyes were sharp.Focused. The nausea was fading, burned away by a cold, clarifying fire.He had his credentials. He had his invitation to the theater of the unconscious.
The retreat began tomorrow.