"Stacy St. Claire?" the security guard bellowed through the lobby.
"Here," Anastasia said, standing up and smoothing her new suit with trembling hands.
Be cool.
Be calm.
She followed the guard toward the interview room, checking her new haircut in the metal trim of the door and fiddling with the now-blonde bob. Cutting off her long black hair had been a painful but necessary step. She had loved the way it contrasted with her pale skin, but she needed to look different.
The blonde suited her, too.
She thanked the guard, took a deep breath, and pushed the door open.
Anastasia strutted toward the single seat in the centre of the room, heels clicking off the polished stone floor. Five well-dressed interviewers sat behind a long, curved desk. She felt exposed in the middle of the room -- like she was on trial.
"Thank you for this opportunity," she said, tucking her grey skirt beneath her as she took her seat.
The young man in the centre raised a hand. "Luke Haldon. Hiring manager for this level of St. Claire Pattinson," he said, eyes glued to his screen.
He poked at the screen -- each tap creeping closer to a thud. "Apologies for the delay. There's a huge update rolling out, so our devices are even slower than usual."
"I understand,' Anastasia said, keeping her back straight and her hands still in her lap. 'Tech's so seamless these days that when it breaks, it
feels
like the end of the world."
She smiled and chuckled alone.
"Indeed." Luke tapped the screen a dozen more times. "Ah, finally. So, are you familiar with what SCP does, miss...St. Claire?"
He scoffed and looked at Anastasia for the first time. "Any relation?"
Anastasia was the only child of Vernon St. Claire -- co-owner and the current head of the St. Claire family.
Stacy
St. Claire was a flimsy attempt to blend in without drawing too much attention.
Anastasia laughed unconvincingly. "That would have been nice," she said, tucking her hair behind her ear. "If I say I am, can I skip the interview?"
Luke smiled. "Of course," he said, pointing at the phone. "We'll just have to check with the big boss."
"Oh no, you can take my word for it, Mr Haldon," she said, grinning to match his smile. "I'm sure the real Miss St. Claire is applying for part-time jobs to pay her way through business school too. We're basically twins."
"Absolutely," he chuckled. "The St. Claires don't have student loan money lying around in their many, many mansions."
Anastasia hid a giggle with the back of her hand. "Tough crowd," she said, nodding toward the other four interviewers.
"Don't mind them, they're just here to observe."
He tapped on his screen again. "Now, let's...Uh oh. Looks like you've been summoned."
Two security guards entered and silently gestured for Anastasia to follow.
"what's going on?" she asked, standing and straightening her dress with feigned composure. "Am I in trouble?"
"It's probably mistaken identity. Nothing to worry about. It might even work out in your favour," he said. "Please follow these gentlemen, and they will take you to the eighteenth floor.
Mr
St. Claire would like to see you."
Anastasia's head fell. Daddy had caught her so quickly. She should have known a haircut and a nickname wouldn't be enough.
"It was nice to meet you, Luke."
Anastasia followed the silent guards through the building. What was she going to say to him? The ride in the lift was agonising. Her heart and breath were quick and heavy. The doors opened on a few floors, but the guard simply shook their heads and no one dared enter -- Keeping the lift empty the whole trip. Anastasia watched the numbers as they counted
up
to her demise -- the eighteenth floor.
The guard led her to the central office -- hardwood doors were the clear focal point as the lift opened. Dark. Imposing. The guards knocked, then took position on either side.
"Come," said a muffled voice from within.
Anastasia took another deep breath and walked into the office. Relief struck her. It was the
other
Mr St. Claire. Her step-brother Julian.
"Hair suits you," he said from behind his desk.
"Jules," she said with a huge grin. Running across the office to hug him. "I thought daddy was going to be so mad."
Julian pulled her into his lap and returned her hug. "What are you doing here, sis?"
"Applying for the intern position," she said, resting her golden hair on his head. "I'm in disguise. Shhh."
"Ana, a haircut and a fucking nickname are not a 'disguise'," he said, leaning back and turning her face towards his. His hazel eyes staring deep into her green. "I thought you didn't want to work here? After all that yelling about finding your own path? Paying your own way? No handouts?"
Anastasia stood up and looked out of the window. A wonderful view of the city. A view he had earned.
"That's exactly what I want, Jules," she said, turning her head just enough to watch him in the corner of her eye. "Did I ever tell you how much I look up to you? I know I was annoying as a kid, and bratty as a teen, but I idolised you. Still do. You worked hard to be where you are. I want to be like you. I want to
earn
my place here. To follow in
your
footsteps as much as our father's. You know?"
"I always thought...with your mother and mine. The affair. The accident. I figured you hated me. Said you did. A lot."
"Like I said," Anastasia said, spinning around and giving a little flourish. "Bratty teen. I thought things had improved between us, though? I have been trying to bridge the gap, you know?"
"Now that I did know," he said, tapping his desk with his fingers. "Nice to hear it confirmed."
"So...what now? Am I screwed, or will my super competent and dashing big brother swoop in to save my day?" She asked, pulling out the puppy eyes.
"Why here? There are a dozen other companies you could have applied for that didn't have scores of people who know what you fucking look like."
"My big brother works here," she said with a smirk. "I want to be just like him when I grow up. Seriously, though, this is the family legacy. I don't want to be left behind when you're CEO, and I don't want to be a liability. I want to learn all about it from the inside."
He sighed and his fingers tapped his desk slower. "Give me a second to think."
She watched his silent deliberations. She really looked up to him -- it wasn't
all
smoke. He was twelve years older than her, which didn't help them bond at first. Daddy used to make him babysit, which can't have been fun for him. Especially when she was fourteen. A twenty-six-year-old forced to take care of a hormonal teenage girl in a weird power-play. Daddy was fond of those. Jules never took it out on her. She didn't realise how it was for him until her sixteenth birthday. Daddy had him serving drinks and cake to a gaggle of spoiled rich girls. They all teased him. For Anastasia, it was the wake-up call she needed.
"Okay,
Stacy
," he said, slapping the table. "I'm going to be real with you. There's no way this can happen without someone on the inside pulling strings. So, if it won't hurt your pride too much, maybe you could accept just one handout from your big brother?"
Anastasia almost jumped for joy. "What's the plan, big man?" she asked with a grin.
"You should know," he said, clicking his mouse and pulling his keyboard in front of him. "What I'm about to do is just a little illegal. It
can't
come back to me, okay? I'm going to alter your records. A new name. A different face. And...an opening came up recently in our Employee Retention Program. We were shadow hiring a new Wellness Officer, but if you want...I can make sure Stacy Swallows is offered the position."
"Who?"
He smirked and raised a brow. "You needed a new last name, and since I'm doing you a
huge
favour, I think I should be allowed to have some fun with you."
Her eyes narrowed, and she pouted. "I suppose that's fair. What does the job involve? Do you think I can do it?"
"I think it's perfect for you," he said, pausing his typing to look at her. "They liaise with all the major departments, so you'll get, uh, intimate knowledge of the key players at the company, as well as the opportunity to improve working conditions for everyone. That's a great feather to have in your cap. Plus, our Wellness Officers are based on some weird old ritual. Don't understand it myself, but they wear stylised masks. It
symbolises
something about rejecting selfish thinking, or...something. I have no idea, but no one will see your face. You can be invisible. All you have to do is say the word."
"Okay, Jules. I trust you, but do I really have to be Stacy Swallows?"
"Non-negotiable," Julian said, hammering the enter key. "There. It's done. You should spend the night here. They'll be sending a car for you, and it will ruin everything when they pull up to the family estate."
Anastasia hugged Jules and kissed his cheek. "Thanks, Jules. I mean it. I owe you one."
Julian smiled. "At least."
The guards led her back to the lift and down into the basement levels. It had been many years since Anastasia had spent a night in the pods. There was a while, after her mother passed, when she couldn't sleep without Daddy near. Even though there were dozens of floors between them, it still felt like they were in the same house. A very tall house. The pods were just like she remembered. Little more than a bed, a set of drawers and a desk. A very compact hotel room. The guards handed her the keycard and left her to the rest of her day.
She showered, dropped her suit into the laundry collection box, and crawled into bed.
The room alarm woke her the next morning. She had another shower, but when she opened the laundry box, she found it empty. No suit.
No clothes at all.
Leaving her with only the lacy, dark-red bra and panties she had slept in. Scampering back to her room, she checked every drawer, cupboard, and any other nook that might contain a stitch of clothing. There was nothing. Even the towels were gone -- already surrendered to the thieving laundry box. She slumped onto the bed, wondering how this could possibly get worse -- then she saw the flashing light by the letterbox.
Anastasia darted to the box, hoping -- praying -- for a clean suit. Instead, she found a plain white box. Her name was etched into the lid -- stark, in a simple font. But the curved corners gave the cube a strangely elegant, premium feel. She pulled the lid off. A white mask in a white bag. A white card was placed in a slot beneath it.
