Chapter 2: The Interview
1422 Words
Allegra sat alone in her dim Lower East Side apartment, the weak light from a single lamp casting long shadows across the chaos on her kitchen table. Fake résumés, forged reference letters, business cards bearing her alias under the emblems of corporations she’d never stepped foot in, a web of lies spun so tightly even she had to remind herself where the truth ended.
Five years of work. Five years of sharpening the lie.
This wasn’t preparation.
This was war.
She rolled her shoulders, muscles knotted from hours hunched over Voss Industries’ internal architecture, organizational charts, personnel bios, internal memos she'd bought from digital back channels. One name circled in red: Victoria Hargrove. Voss’s shadow, his enforcer, a strategist with a memory like a steel trap and zero margin for coincidence.
After that elevator exchange….
“Monroe. Uncommon name.”
Something had flickered in Hargrove’s eyes. Not recognition, not yet. But something close enough to set Allegra’s pulse spiking.
Does she know?
Could she?
Her laptop pinged with another incoming call. Nicholas. Again? Twelfth time today. She exhaled through her nose, jaw clenched; she couldn’t dodge him forever, so she picked him up.
“Trying to win a medal for ignoring your only brother?” His voice, taut with humor, couldn’t hide the panic underneath.
“I’ve been slammed. Just sent you the rent.”
“Yeah. I saw. But…”
“And the support meetings?”
A pause. “Now and then, but that’s not what…, listen. I heard from Derek. You interviewed at Voss?”
Of course. Derek. The gossip pipeline with a finance blog and zero filter.
She stood, pressing her back against the wall, instinct flaring like a survival reflex.
“It’s just a job, Nick.”
“No, it’s not. Don’t insult me. You’ve been obsessed with Voss for years. This? This is suicide wrapped in a business suit.”
She flinched. Not visibly, but the words landed. “I know what I’m doing.”
“That’s what scares me,” he snapped, then lowered his voice. “Allegra... if he finds out who you are? What are you after? What he did to Dad will look like mercy.”
“I’m not him,” she said flatly. “I don’t die quietly.”
A beat. Then, softly: “Just... meet me this weekend. I found some of Dad’s old files. Stuff you need to see, stuff that might change things.”
“What kind of stuff?”
“Not over the phone. Just promise me you won’t go nuclear before we talk.”
She didn’t answer that.
“I have to prepare for tomorrow. I’ll call you.”
She hung up and got back to work.
By midnight, she could recite the corporate structure of Voss’s empire blindfolded. By 2 a.m., she had scripted and rehearsed thirty-seven hypothetical scenarios for her first day, with each one as a potential minefield.
By dawn, she stood under a cold shower, letting the water burn away the fear, the doubt, the memory of Nicholas’s voice.
He hadn’t seen their father’s body.
Hadn’t picked out the casket, negotiated with debt collectors, nor sat alone in that mahogany-lined study while the silence screamed.
But she had, and in that silence, she'd made a promise:
I’ll make him pay.
She was done waiting.
The security desk at Voss Tower looked different when you had a badge. It wasn’t a checkpoint anymore; it was access granted. A silent nod that said: You belong here.
Rodriguez, the guard she'd seen during her interview, barely glanced up before handing over her permanent ID.
“Eighth floor,” he said, tapping the laminated badge on the polished marble. Corporate strategy. East wing.”
Allegra clipped it to her lapel. The plastic rectangle felt heavier than it should.
It was not just an ID but a weapon.
No longer an applicant but an infiltrator.
She moved through the lobby with the morning tide of suits and lanyards. Elevator Bank B straight ahead. There, she saw her Victoria Hargrove standing near the glass doors, speaking in low tones to a tall, clean-cut man with a military posture and sharp eyes that didn’t miss much. Marcus Chen, Head of security.
Allegra recognized him from her file reviews; a former Army intelligence officer hired after a ransomware scare in ‘21. His gaze swept the room with practiced rhythm, and it landed on her for a fraction too long.
Allegra kept her expression flat as she entered the elevator. No doubt, today was about becoming invisible. Blending in with a cog in the machine, not the hand guiding the blade, she'd make her real moves later when the lights were lower and the watchers distracted.
The eighth floor opened into a reception area humming with subdued urgency. A young man with rimless glasses and a Bluetooth headset looked up, his fingers still dancing over a keyboard.
“Allegra Monroe?” he asked, as if confirming a rumor.
She nodded.
“I’m Carlos. HR sent your file down this morning as express lane stuff "Unusual.” His curiosity was polite, but sharp. “Trevor says you're the first analyst Mr. Voss has ever personally placed.”
Allegra smiled as if the detail surprised her, too. “I guess I caught him on a good day.”
“If that exists,” Carlos grinned. “You’re checking in with Grace Liu." First office on the right. Coffee’s at the end of the hall if you need something stronger.”
“Do I look that bad?”
“You look like you didn’t sleep. "Don’t worry, it’s tradition.” He lowered his voice. Pro tip: Grace respects initiative, hates ass-kissing. Walk the line.”
“Thanks for the warning.”
Allegra moved through the office, noting everything. This wasn’t the vanity glass and sleek design of the upper floors. This space was function over flair on open floor plans, data dashboards in constant refresh, whiteboards jammed with timelines and competitor names underlined in red. It buzzed with focus, with ruthlessness.
Grace Liu’s office stood at the perimeter, glass-walled, surveillance-friendly. The woman inside barely glanced up when Allegra stepped through the door.
“Monroe. On time. Good.” She gestured to the chair opposite her desk, still reading from her tablet. “Your credentials are interesting. Frankly, they’re too good. Makes me wonder what you want.”
Allegra had prepared for this. “Breadth doesn’t equal depth. I’ve spent years advising from the outside. I want to get my hands dirty. Understand the machinery from within.”
“That’s the brochure version,” Grace said, finally meeting her eyes. Her gaze was unblinking. “Give me the truth.”
Allegra paused, then shifted strategies. “Consulting gives you patterns, but Voss Industries doesn’t follow patterns; it creates them. I want to learn how Mr. Voss identifies targets, not just math, but instinct.”
Grace studied her a beat longer, then gave a faint, humorless smile. “Careful; Learning how Damian Voss thinks has sent better analysts than you into full-blown existential crises.”
She tapped her tablet. “You’ll be on Julian West’s team. They’re running the Meridian Manufacturing assessment.”
Allegra’s breath caught, but she didn't show it.
A family-owned business, generational, vulnerable, just like Monroe Industries had been.
“Familiar name,” she said evenly. “Strong fundamentals, outdated infrastructure.”
“Surface-level. Your team’s diving into valuation, integration, and strip potential.”
Strip potential. A euphemism that still made her skin crawl.
"Grace stood, brisk and efficient. “Julian was in the Phoenix Room. Down the hall, left at the dying ficus, Carlos insists on resuscitating it.”
The ficus was easy to spot, so was the room; its half-open door leaking tension like smoke.
“Completely disagree with this,” said a male voice. "Clipped, privileged, and educated. “We’re talking about a company that supports an entire town. If we dismantle it, the PR fallout”
“PR isn’t your job, Julian.”
Damian Voss.
That voice was unmistakably cool, controlled, and cruel.
“The board authorized exploration. Your job is to make the numbers work.”
Allegra stopped just outside the door. Her pulse kicked up. She hadn’t expected him, at least not today.
She took one slow, steady breath.
Then she knocked on the frame, as if she belonged in the room.
The conversation stopped mid-sentence. A man with aristocratic features and neatly swept blond hair turned toward the door, his expression hardening. Julian West, no doubt.
- Writer
