Chapter 3
Zo noticed the spaces between things. He noticed what did not happen. Wednesday at 7:00, the bell rang. She clocked out. She walked into the rain. Thursday, the same. Friday. Saturday. A week passed, and the anomaly became a pattern. According to the personnel file Zo ordered his security chief to retrieve, the maid’s name was Tessa Cole. 26 years old. No criminal record. Her previous employment consisted of a string of low-wage diner jobs and a period working at a commercial laundry facility. No known association with rival families. On paper, she was a ghost. But ghosts did not work on the third floor of the Rossi estate. Zo leaned back in his leather chair, listening to it creak in the silence.
On the live feed from the staff dining hall, Carmine, the chef, was carving a massive roast. Guards laughed around the tables, their plates piled high. Then Zo looked at Camera 4. The mudroom was empty. He closed Tessa’s file. The itch had started inside his brain. Cold. Calculated. Persistent. He was going to find out exactly what Tessa Cole was rushing away to do. Observation became a secondary job. Zo did not change his routine. He was too intelligent for that. He simply adjusted his focus. He began tracking Tessa’s movements through the house with a predator’s patience.
He noticed her shoes first. They were cheap white sneakers, the kind sold at discount stores, and they were dying slowly. The rubber sole of the right shoe had separated from the canvas and was held together by a thick, desperate smear of superglue. Whenever she crossed hardwood, it produced a faint dragging squeak. Then he noticed her physical condition. She was exhausted. Not the healthy, satisfying exhaustion of a difficult day’s work. This was deeper. Bone-deep. Cellular. Her skin had the translucent pallor of someone surviving on fumes and cheap caffeine. Dark, bruised-looking circles carved half-moons beneath her brown eyes.
