FOUR Wells
FOUR
Wells
Known but Unnamed: Half the pleasure of a masked ball was dancing with someone whose gait or laugh you knew while the name behind the costume stayed out of reach. Sometimes you recognize a person long before you are allowed to know who they are.
The packet flags fifteen minutes before I finish tracing the source.
Someone breached the Singapore routing system last week.
Whoever it was covered their tracks well enough that the system logs looked clean, but volume discrepancies told a different story.
Two shipments that should have crossed each other in transit showed simultaneous corridor use that physics does not permit.
I pull the metadata, cross-reference the terminal access logs, and isolate three employee IDs that pinged the same secured zone within a four-minute window. Two of them work the graveyard shift. The third doesn't work in Singapore at all.
There it is.
I flag the account, lock the credentials, and route the full packet to Ridge with a note that says one line.
Internal breach, Singapore terminal, recommend audit.
My phone buzzes before I can move to the next screen.
I glance at the display. Sandra Benney, HR. My jaw locks, and I let it ring twice more before I answer.
"Stone."
"Wells, good morning." Her voice is warm and efficient at the same time, the exact tone that means she wants something I will not want to give. "Do you have a minute?"
"No."
"Perfect. I'll make it less than a minute." She was probably already prepared for my response. "We discussed the graphic design placement a few weeks ago."
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Do you remember the board asked for someone to turn your findings into visuals and reports for your weekly leadership briefings and quarterly board meetings? We've come up with the position of data visualization designer."
"Okay."
"We've identified a candidate. We’d like to set up a time for you to meet her before we offer the job."
"This is that bullshit position where we pay someone to dumb down my reports?"
"Not exactly. She isn't someone you hand finished work to.
She's embedded with your function, sits in on your briefings, works through the data with you, and builds everything from the daily dashboards to the quarterly board packs.
To make your work make sense, she has to understand it, which means she'll be in your orbit, asking questions.
Think of it as the presentation of your genius. "
Ass kisser.
"This is someone who is with me most of the day? That isn't going to work, Sandra. I work alone."
"Look, let's just see how this goes. We posted the job a few weeks ago and have had several good candidates apply.
One, in particular, seems like a great fit.
Meet her, ask her some questions, and then let's discuss how we implement it.
She's coming in tomorrow for a final interview with human resources.
Can you carve out about thirty minutes to meet her while she's here? "
My fingers stop moving over the keyboard. "This is a waste of time."
"Thirty minutes, Wells." Benney's tone stays pleasant and unyielding.
"The leadership needs a constant understanding of your ongoing cyber briefings.
The board can't parse your reports for their quarterly meeting.
Ridge agrees with the board. You're brilliant at what you do, but when you present findings, half the room looks like they're having an out-of-body experience. "
"Then they should pay more attention.”
"They're trying. They just have no idea what you're saying." She pauses while papers rustle on her end. "You're the tech mind. You're not the communicator. That's not an insult, it's a fact. Ridge restructured the communications pipeline for a reason, and this hire is part of that."
I lean back in my chair and stare at the ceiling. My shoulders go still and tight. "I don't want someone in my space."
"You might find having a second set of eyes is useful." Benney's voice sharpens just enough to make her point.
I can assure her a second set of eyes will be anything but useful. Not that she would listen.
"This isn't optional, Wells. Ridge and the board signed off on it. The candidate is strong, the skill set matches, and the placement happens unless you give me a reason that holds water."
I don't answer immediately. My gaze drops back to the screens in front of me, the locked breach file, the terminal data I traced without needing a single visual aid to make sense of it.
The real objection is the data itself. Some of what I generate is for the board.
Some of it no one is ever meant to see. There are two layers to what I do, the one the board pays for and the one no one is ever meant to find, and they sit inches apart on these screens.
People don't get embedded in my work because embedded is how the wall between those two layers goes fucking off the rails.
"Fine, I'll stop by. But I'm not promising anything else. What time?"
"Thank you. She's coming in at ten, so any time between ten and eleven. You tell me what works and I'll build it into the meeting." Benney sounds too pleased. "I'll have the courier drop off the candidate's portfolio this afternoon so you can review it beforehand."
"I won't, so save yourself the time. I'll shoot you an email once I look at my schedule and know what time I can stop in."
"I'm sending it anyway. And look at that, I clocked in at just over two minutes, and we all survived." She ends the call before I can argue further.
I set the phone down, keeping my hand flat on the desk. The meeting sits on my calendar now, locked in, unavoidable. Ridge's restructuring doesn't care whether I want a babysitter near my screens.
I pull up the next file and start working again. Tomorrow I meet the candidate. Tomorrow, I make it clear that I do not need help, do not want oversight, and will not be softened into cooperation.
Tomorrow I shut this down.
Conference room two sits on the nineteenth floor with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the river. It's where I have the board meet when I want to show them things. There are three screens mounted along the far wall.
I chose it for her because it does not present like an interview space. It's more technical and cold. It's exactly the environment I want her walking into so she doesn't think this is some cushy job.
I stand near the windows with my phone in one hand and a cigarette I can't light on the main floor in the other. The portfolio Benney sent sits unopened on the table behind me.
I glance at the name again. Cera Simum. Odd name.
Measured footsteps approach from the hallway. I turn as the door opens.
A woman wearing a black blazer and pants steps inside and stops just past the threshold. Long, brown hair falls in waves past her shoulders, catching light from the windows. Her brown eyes and olive skin complement her angular face and small nose. A tiny beauty mark sits just above her upper lip.
She extends her hand. "Cera Simum. I appreciate the time."
Her voice is warm, but direct. There's no hesitation, which I appreciate. Something in the way she says it catches at me, a familiarity I can't place, there and gone before I can hold it. I have been up late too many nights in a row. I let it go. I take her hand and release it quickly.
"Wells Stone."
"It's a pleasure." She tilts her head slightly, and the corner of her mouth lifts pleasantly, but I can already tell she isn't one to take shit. Maybe she is a good fit to deal with me, after all.
I lean back against the edge of the table and cross my arms. "The position is visualization support. You understand that means translating technical intelligence into something the board and security council can digest without needing me to explain it twice, right?"
"I do."
"Most of what I handle is confidential and sensitive. You'd be sitting on information you can't discuss or share, and can't use for anything except the single task I assign."
She nods once. "In my last role, I built data visualizations for a medical records firm, coding and inputting charts, so I'm used to strict nondisclosure rules. That isn't a problem."
"It's also going to be boring as hell." I watch her face for a crack.
"You'll spend most of your time turning data packets into infographics and waiting for me to approve them.
There's no creative freedom, no input on strategy.
You take what I give you and make it pretty enough for executives who don't know what a firewall is. "
"Can't be more boring than medical data entry, I can assure you." Her voice stays level.
I narrow my eyes. She doesn't flinch.
"You think you can keep up with technical material you don't have the background for?"
"I think that's exactly why you need me." She steps closer to the table and rests her hand on the back of a chair. "My understanding is you're fluent, and the people who need your reports aren't. I would be the bridge. I think I am perfect for that type of position."
My jaw tightens. She should sound defensive by now, maybe even uncertain. She isn't trying to prove herself by over-explaining. Instead, she stands there like she already earned the room.
I push off the table and close half the distance between us. "I don't deal in ambiguity. I won't be an easy man to work for, and I can't offer any apologies for that."
"Respectfully, I wouldn't be taking the job for personalities. I like the scope and feel like I can do what you need. I take direction well, and leave everything else at home."
The pressure behind my neck tightens and spreads. I can't argue with that. I've given her every reason not to want this job, and she keeps coming back for more.
I uncross my arms and shift my weight. "You're very confident for someone who is interviewing for a job."
"I'm good at what I do, and I think this job is a perfect marriage of my experience and my training." She doesn't smile, but the edge in her tone sharpens. "And I don't waste time pretending otherwise."
I exhale slowly, and the decision forms before I can stop it. "Well, I guess you've made a good case, since this is your third interview. I'll discuss it with Sandra, but know that I'm not used to having someone working with me, and it may end up that it won't work. I'm open to seeing how it goes."
Her eyebrows lift slightly. "I can work with that. I'll prove my worth."
I straighten, and my voice flattens slightly. "I'll ask Sandra to send the offer by the end of the day. Standard NDA, security clearance, and background report will have to be checked out before anything is final. If anything flags, the offer pulls."
"My life is boring. I can assure you all of that will pass with flying colors."
"Did Sandra tell you where to go once we finished? I can walk you back to her office if you need me to show you the way?"
She nods once and picks up her bag from the chair. "Thank you for the opportunity. And she told me to walk back to HR once we finished. I know the way, but thank you."
"Don't thank me yet." I move toward the door and pull it open. "You'll be working directly under me. That means my hours, my standards, my approval on everything before it goes upstream. Like I said earlier, I'm not an easy man to work for."
"I can handle it." She walks past me, and the scent of something clean and faintly floral follows her into the hallway.
I watch her walk toward the elevator. My jaw locks. She doesn't look back.
The door closes, leaving me alone in the conference room with the river behind me and the decision I didn't plan to make sitting heavy in my chest.
I pull my phone and type a message to Benney.
The candidate is fine. Send the offer. I can't make any promises how it will go, but willing to give it a try.
I hit send, pocket the phone before grabbing the file and heading back to my office. Once I get back, I open Cera Simum's file and look over her résumé more closely. I hadn't even bothered to open the file yesterday when the courier dropped it off.
Bachelor's degree in graphic design from Tulane. She spent one year doing freelance, and the last three years working for a medical records firm, just like she said.
There's nothing special here, but something tugs at me. Her references check out. Her address appears to be in the Mid-City District, and she has a local phone number.
I study her name at the top of the page. Cera Simum.
Her photo sits in the corner of the first page, a professional headshot with neutral lighting and no expression. I pick it up and study it, waiting for whatever tugged at me in that room to surface. The flat image gives me nothing. Whatever it was, it wasn't here on paper.
I close the file and look at my screens to start a new trace on the second terminal flagged in the metadata. My fingers move across the keyboard. The rhythm settles me.
This is the work, the part I control. I don't have time to try to think about why a random woman applying for a job seems familiar. She isn't, and that's the end of that.