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Helper 99

S he’d already made the mistake once. But then, so had he. And ‘round and ‘round we go. This is what they pay me for, so who am I to complain?

Still, it never fails to amuse me how people think their lives are private. A few clicks here, a little infiltration there, and I can thread myself through the entire tapestry of their secrets without leaving so much as a stray fiber. I’ve been studying her for weeks now—long before her resume even crossed my desk. She’s good at playing the part of someone who’s barely scraping by, which, to be fair, she is. That desperation? It’s his favorite kind of bait.

Even so, I don’t see the spark he claims to see in her. She’s one rental payment away from a cardboard box, so I suppose that’s reason enough for him to be intrigued. She’ll cling to whatever lifeline he dangles. Personally, I find that predictability dull, but he seems to get off on it. He likes to watch them dance on that tightrope of maybe-I-can-succeed, maybe-I-should-run.

To me, it seems like a cat pawing at prey that’s already dead. As in, what’s the point?

And yet, I can’t decide yet if this one poses a threat or an opportunity. Either way, I’m keeping a close watch. Same as usual.

I will admit, it’s almost a relief that she’s so financially unstable. Makes things easier. If someone’s got a cushion, they can bounce back. But her? She has no safety net—she is one wrong move away from freefall. She’s precisely the type that can be nudged into compliance. Fear’s a powerful motivator, and he is an expert at harnessing it.

In the grand scheme, compliance is everything here. It’s the bedrock of our entire operation. I’ve seen what happens to the ones who question it—men and women who thought they could outsmart us. Thought they could outsmart me . They disappear like foam on a stormy sea. One minute you see them, the next they’re gone, and no one even remembers their name. Because we’ve made sure of that.

I still remember the last compliance officer, though. A sweet-talking family man who believed he could whistleblow his way to sainthood. For his trouble, we gave him an expedited trip off this mortal coil. Not my idea of fun—contrary to popular belief, I don’t enjoy cleaning up these messes—but what can you do? What’s done is done.

I’m well aware that the best way to avoid trouble is to handle it before it lands on his desk.

This is where she might be different, or might not. Her risk assessment is… murky. She’s uncommonly persistent for someone who pretends to hate her telemarketing gig so much. That suggests grit—maybe a hidden nerve. Not to worry, I’ll pluck that nerve soon enough.

But I should be fair: we are giving her a chance. We will be extending the job offer, after all. A good salary for someone in her predicament is basically a bribe. She’ll take it. And once she’s in the building, once she feels that spark of power and possibility, she’ll want to stay. If that wanting tips her from loyal to reckless, well, I won’t hesitate to handle it. It’s not personal. It’s just the way things work.

When I mentioned this was a bad idea, he just shrugged and said, “ Make sure there’s nothing in her past that’ll blow up in our faces .”

I dug deeper than any standard background check. She’s clean in all the usual ways—no criminal record, no suspicious activist leanings, no meddling family ties.

People like her, they think once they sign that contract, they’re ascending to some new rung of the ladder. Maybe they’ve even convinced themselves they’ll rise high enough to breathe easy. Poor thing. I’ve seen the illusions fall apart more times than I can count. The cost of ambition here is steep. She’ll learn that soon, but hopefully not too soon—he hates a rushed game. He wants her fully immersed before we tighten the vise.

In the meantime, I’m keeping an eye on her phone records, emails, even the private little notebooks she keeps in the console of her car. She sure takes a lot of risks leaving all that personal information lying about, which I find oddly endearing. Maybe I’ll save a few pages for my personal file. The lists, endless lists, like she’s trying to figure out her next move. She’s half in survival mode already, and we haven’t done much more than dangle a job title and a salary bracket.

At any rate, we’ll see how she performs. If she’s wise, she’ll learn how to toe the line—bend where we want her to bend, ask the right questions, and more importantly, know when not to ask at all. If she’s not wise… well, there’s a reason I keep a supply of NFIT injection vials on hand. Discreet, effective, almost impossible to trace. No bullets required. No mess. Just a flick of the wrist and the problem goes away quietly, leaving a minimal paper trail.

He’s not squeamish about that part. Frankly, neither am I. The difference is, I don’t delude myself into thinking it’s fun. For me, it’s just a job—a careful balancing act of loyalty, cunning, and a willingness to do the dirty work so the rest of his shining facade stays sparkling. For him, it’s something else. A rush. A game. I’m not complaining. As long as he gives me what I need, as long as he’s the one signing my checks, I’ll play any part he needs me to play.

For now, she’s just a name on my watchlist. Potential. Risk. Uncertain. Like an asterisk in a ledger waiting to become either a footnote or a full-blown liability. I suppose we’ll find out which soon enough.

One thing I do know: if she tries to step out of line, I’ll be there. Pulling the strings, snipping them, or tying them into knots—whatever the situation demands. And if it comes down to delivering bad news, well… I’ve learned to be honest, but careful. Because he has made it clear: any messenger bringing him a problem better also bring a solution.

I won’t lose sleep over it. Sleep is a luxury I’ve earned. But her? She hasn’t earned a damn thing yet.

Only time will tell, and I’ll be watching. And if she’s not everything he thinks she is, I’ll do my job. That’s why he pays me.

And trust me: I’m worth every cent.