Chapter 2: The Handler's Ultimatum
The monitors glowed in the dimming light of the penthouse office. Sreyneang had dimmed the overheads an hour ago—a small concession to the headache forming behind her left eye. On the sixth screen, the internal tracking map showed six dots moving through the mansion. Five were scattered across the lower floors. One was climbing the private staircase toward her.
She didn't turn around when the door opened.
"You wanted to see me, Miss Khem?"
The voice was soft. Careful. Mei Lin stood in the doorway, her hands clasped in front of her like a schoolgirl called before the principal. She was forty-one, Chinese-Cambodian, with graying temples and a face that had seen too much and judged too little. Her uniform—simple black slacks, a white blouse—was wrinkled at the collar. She'd been working.
Sreyneang gestured to the chair across from her desk. "Sit."
Mei Lin sat. Her eyes flicked to the monitors, to the security feeds, to the tracking map. She knew. Of course she knew. She'd been with the family for twelve years. She could read Sreyneang's silences better than anyone alive.
"The archives were accessed three hours ago," Sreyneang said. She picked up her pen, turned it over in her fingers. "Someone used credentials that belong to you."
Mei Lin didn't flinch. Her hands stayed folded in her lap. "Yes."
"Just yes?"
"What would you like me to say?" Mei Lin's voice carried no defiance, no apology. Just exhaustion. "You already know."
Sreyneang set the pen down. "Tell me why."
A long pause. Outside the glass walls, the city had gone dark, its neon veins pulsing against the night. Somewhere below, a car horn blared, distant and irrelevant.
"Bopha asked," Mei Lin said finally.
"She asked."
"She begged." Mei Lin's voice cracked, just slightly. "You know how she gets. She wanted to watch the old videos. The ones from her birthday last year. She said—" Mei Lin stopped, swallowed. "She said she wanted to see her pretty ladies. She said please, please, pretty please, and she put her hands together like this—" She demonstrated, palms pressed, fingers trembling. "—and she looked at me with those eyes, and I couldn't—"
"You couldn't say no."
"I couldn't say no."
Sreyneang stood. She walked to the window, her heels clicking against the marble. The reflection of her own face stared back at her—sharp cheekbones, dark eyes, a mouth that had forgotten how to smile.
"You know the protocols," she said. "You know what those archives contain. Client data. Personal information. Things that could destroy us if they got out."
"I know."
"And you gave her access anyway."
"I didn't give her access. I stayed with her the whole time. She never left the room. She just wanted to watch. That's all." Mei Lin's voice rose, just a little. "She's not a security risk, Miss Khem. She's a twenty-one-year-old girl who wanted to see her own birthday party."
Sreyneang turned.
Mei Lin's face had gone pale. The words hung in the air between them, heavy and sharp.
"You think I don't know that?" Sreyneang's voice was quiet. Dangerously quiet. "You think I don't know exactly who my sister is? I've been protecting her since before you ever set foot in this house."
"Then you know she's not the threat."
"The threat isn't her. The threat is what happens when someone else finds out we have gaps. Weak points. People who can be compromised." Sreyneang walked back to the desk. "You compromised yourself, Mei. The moment you said yes to her, you became a liability."
Mei Lin's chin lifted. Just a fraction. Just enough.
"Then fire me."
The words landed like a slap.
Sreyneang stared at her. "What?"
"Fire me." Mei Lin's hands had stopped trembling. Her voice was steady now, almost calm. "I broke protocol. I put the company at risk. I deserve to be let go. But—" She stopped, breathed. "But before you do, I want you to understand something."
Sreyneang waited.
"Every morning, I wake Bopha up. I brush her hair—all of it, all those feet of it. I help her choose her clothes. I make her breakfast, and I feed it to her because she likes being fed. I hold her hand when she's scared. I laugh at her jokes, even when I don't understand them. I—" Mei Lin's voice broke. She pressed her lips together, then continued. "I do things for her that no one else would do. Things you hired me specifically to do. And I do them because I love her. Not because you pay me. Not because it's my job. Because she is the sweetest, purest soul I have ever known, and I would rather die than let anything hurt her."
The office was silent. The monitors hummed. The city glowed.
"And if you fire me," Mei Lin said, "you'll find someone else. Someone who'll follow the rules. Someone who'll never let her watch old videos or eat cake before dinner or stay up past her bedtime. Someone who'll do the job. But they won't love her. Not like I do."
Sreyneang's jaw tightened. She turned away, walked to the throne, ran her fingers over the peach velvet. The cushions had gone cold.
"You're right," she said. "I won't find someone like you."
Mei Lin blinked. "Miss Khem—"
"I'm not finished." Sreyneang turned back. "You broke protocol. You put our security at risk. For that, there will be consequences."
She walked to her desk, opened a drawer, pulled out a document. A contract. Thick, bound in leather, stamped with the Khem family seal.
"This is a new agreement," she said. "It triples your salary. It gives you full medical coverage for life. It provides a pension that will let you retire at sixty and never work again."
Mei Lin stared at the document. "I don't understand."
"I'm binding you closer." Sreyneang set the contract on the desk, slid it across. "You will have full archive access, monitored and logged. You will be responsible for Bopha's digital footprint. You will sign an NDA that makes the one you signed before look like a grocery list. And in return—"
She paused.
"In return, you will never, ever let her go. No matter what. No matter how hard it gets. No matter how tired you are. You will be her handler until one of you dies. Do you understand?"
Mei Lin's eyes glistened. She reached for the contract, her fingers brushing the leather cover.
"Why?" she whispered. "Why would you trust me after what I did?"
Sreyneang leaned forward. Her voice dropped to a murmur.
"Because I've seen the way she looks at you. And I've seen the way you look at her. And I know that whatever you did, you did it for the same reason I've done every terrible thing I've ever done."
"And what's that?"
"Love."
The door burst open.
Bopha stood in the threshold, her enormous space buns wobbling, her ankle-length hair tangled around her shoulders. She wore nothing but a pair of tiny pink shorts and a crop top that had ridden up to reveal the soft curve of her belly. Her face was flushed. Her lips—those impossible, four-inch-thick lips—were trembling.
"Pretty lady!" she wailed. "No go! No go!"
Mei Lin stood, her chair scraping back. "Bopha—"
Bopha charged across the room, her small feet slapping against the marble, her thick thighs jiggling with every step. She crashed into Mei Lin's legs, wrapped her arms around them, held on like a drowning woman.
"No take! No take!" she sobbed. "Pretty lady mine! Mine! No go!"
Mei Lin knelt, gathered Bopha into her arms, rocked her gently. "Shh. Shh. I'm not going anywhere, sweetheart. I'm right here."
"No go?" Bopha's voice was muffled against Mei Lin's shoulder.
"No go."
Bopha pulled back, her enormous doe eyes wet and red. She looked at Sreyneang, then back at Mei Lin. Her lower lip trembled.
"Promise?"
Mei Lin glanced at Sreyneang. Sreyneang nodded.
"I promise," Mei Lin said. "I'm staying right here. Forever."
Bopha sniffled. Then she smiled—that wide, guileless, devastating smile that had launched a billion-dollar empire. She turned to Sreyneang, her face still streaked with tears.
"Big sister! Pretty lady stay!"
Sreyneang crouched down, her expensive suit be damned. She cupped Bopha's face in her hands, wiped the tears with her thumbs.
"She's staying," Sreyneang said. "She's not going anywhere."
Bopha clapped her hands, bouncing on her knees. "Yay! Yay! We watch videos? Old videos?"
Sreyneang looked at Mei Lin. Mei Lin looked back.
"Tomorrow," Sreyneang said. "Tonight, you sleep."
Bopha pouted—a truly spectacular pout, those massive lips pushing out like a cartoon. But then she yawned, and the pout dissolved into a sleepy smile.
"Okay," she murmured. "Okay, big sister."
She reached up, wrapped her arms around Sreyneang's neck, and kissed her cheek. Then she did the same to Mei Lin. Then she shuffled toward the door, her hair dragging behind her like a bridal train.
At the threshold, she turned.
"Pretty lady?"
"Yes, sweetheart?"
"Love you."
Mei Lin smiled. It was a tired smile, a worn smile, but it was real.
"Love you too, Bopha."
Bopha disappeared into the hallway. Her footsteps faded. The door swung shut.
Sreyneang stood. She straightened her jacket, smoothed her hair.
"Sign the contract," she said. "Then go to bed. You look like hell."
Mei Lin picked up the pen. Her hand was steady now.
"You know," she said, signing her name with a flourish, "she's the only reason I'm still here. Not the money. Not the contract. Her."
Sreyneang walked to the window. The city blazed below, indifferent.
"I know," she said. "That's why I'm keeping you."
Mei Lin set the pen down, left the contract on the desk, and walked to the door. She paused, her hand on the frame.
"For what it's worth," she said, "I'm sorry I broke protocol."
Sreyneang didn't turn. "I know."
The door clicked shut.
Sreyneang stood alone in the penthouse office, surrounded by monitors and contracts and the cold weight of a billion-dollar empire. On the sixth screen, the tracking map showed two dots now in the west wing. One in the garden. Three in the living room.
She counted them. All seven. All safe.
For now.
She picked up her phone, scrolled to a number she hadn't called in years. Her thumb hovered over the dial button. The city glittered below. The night stretched on.
She pressed call.