CH 5 PT 1
1360 Words
Under Contract (Part 1)
The glass doors of Blackwell Tower hissed open like the gates of another world. Elena stepped inside, her palms slick with nerves, her mind already racing through the tasks Ethan had sent that morning. Her ID badge beeped as the scanner approved entry — the sound crisp, final.
She was officially under contract now.
Her stomach twisted at the thought.
The receptionist offered a polite nod. “Welcome back, Miss Rivera. Suite 48-B?”
“Yes.” Elena tried to smile, but the elevator’s mirrored walls reflected the truth — exhaustion, worry, and the lingering question she couldn’t shake: Who sent those messages last night?
The forty-eighth floor was different in the morning light — colder, sharper. Everyone moved quickly, silent, efficient. The hum of conversation was replaced by the steady rhythm of keystrokes and the quiet authority of wealth.
At her desk, she found a single document already open on her screen: PROJECT S — CONFIDENTIAL LEVEL 5
A note at the top read:
> Draft #1: Rewrite within four hours. No external sources. No delays.
– A.Blackwell
Four hours.
Elena’s breath caught. This was impossible — the text was massive, tangled with legal jargon and emotional undertones that didn’t belong in a business report.
She glanced toward Adrian’s glass-walled office. He was already there, speaking to someone on the phone, his posture razor-straight, every movement precise. He didn’t look at her, but she could feel his awareness.
She turned back to the screen, rereading the file. Something was off. The project wasn’t a campaign proposal as she expected — it was a memoir outline. Fragmented memories, confessions, regrets — written in the same clipped precision Adrian used in his speeches.
Halfway down the page, a line stood out:
> S stands for Salvation. For the things I’ve lost, and the ghost I’ve kept.
Elena’s heart skipped. The ghost I’ve kept? Was that… metaphorical? Or literal?
Before she could process it, Ethan appeared beside her desk, holding a tablet. “Miss Rivera. Mr. Blackwell asked that you deliver the revision personally. He prefers real-time feedback.”
“Real-time?” she echoed.
“Yes.” His tone was polite, but something about his smirk made her uneasy. “He likes to see how his writers think.”
Ethan left, and seconds later Adrian’s voice carried across the floor. “Miss Rivera. My office.”
The door clicked shut behind her as she entered. Adrian stood near the window, city skyline blazing behind him.
“Sit.”
She obeyed, notebook trembling slightly in her hands.
“Did you read the brief?” he asked.
“Yes. It’s— unusual. Personal.”
“Good. I want to know how you’ll handle something raw.” He folded his arms. “You’re used to editing other people’s words. But this—” his gaze sharpened— “this time, the words are mine.”
Elena swallowed. “Then why hire a ghostwriter?”
“Because ghosts know how to haunt quietly.”
The way he said it made her pulse stutter.
He moved closer, studying her expression. “You look tired. Long night?”
She hesitated. “Just reading through the material.”
“Good.” His tone softened almost imperceptibly. “Project S isn’t about numbers or reputation. It’s about control — losing it, regaining it. You’ll write it, piece by piece, and no one outside this floor will ever know.”
Elena frowned. “That sounds… isolating.”
“Consider it focus.”
His phone buzzed; he ignored it. “You have four hours. If you can’t handle the schedule, tell me now.”
Something inside her flared — pride, defiance, maybe both. “I can handle it.”
He gave a faint nod. “Prove it.”
---
By noon, Elena’s eyes burned from staring at the screen. The clock ticked louder with every passing minute, the weight of Adrian’s expectation pressing down like gravity.
She revised ruthlessly — cutting, shaping, trying to balance his voice with the vulnerability she glimpsed between lines. But every time she softened a phrase, doubt crept in: Would he see it as weakness?
At one point, she stood to stretch and caught sight of Adrian watching her through the glass. His expression was unreadable.
Lena’s text popped up on her phone:
> How’s day 1? Still breathing?
Elena typed quickly:
> Barely. He’s impossible to read.
Then deleted it before sending. The last thing she needed was a record of her frustration.
Ethan appeared again, carrying coffee. “Courtesy of the boss.”
Elena blinked. “Mr. Blackwell sent this?”
Ethan’s grin widened. “Don’t look so surprised. He’s human — occasionally.”
He placed the cup beside her and lingered. “You’re handling yourself well. Most people don’t last a week here.”
“Why’s that?”
“Pressure. Secrets. Take your pick.” He shrugged, eyes gleaming. “Just remember: no one survives in this building without loyalty.”
Before she could reply, he walked off.
Elena lifted the cup — black, bitter, perfectly brewed — and tried to steady her thoughts.
Then the screen flickered.
A new document appeared, automatically syncing from the main server. Title: PROJECT S — REDACTED FILES
She hadn’t opened it.
The cursor blinked. Then a new line appeared as if someone else was typing in real-time:
> Do you know what S really means, Elena?
Her fingers froze. She glanced toward Adrian’s office — he was still in a call.
The text continued:
> Stop digging before you end up like the last one.
Elena’s blood ran cold.
Last one?
She tried to close the window, but it wouldn’t respond. The letters blurred, reforming into a final line:
> You’re already part of it.
Then the screen went black.
---
Moments later, Adrian’s voice echoed from across the hall. “Miss Rivera — my office, now.”
She jumped up, nearly knocking over the coffee.
When she entered, he was standing by his desk, eyes darker than before. “Who gave you clearance for the Redacted folder?”
“I didn’t open it! It just— appeared!”
He studied her, silent, assessing. For a heartbeat, she thought he didn’t believe her.
Then, quietly, “Leave your workstation unlocked next time.”
She blinked. “What?”
His expression didn’t change. “It’s easier to trace interference that way.”
“Interference?”
“You’re not the first ghostwriter I’ve hired, Miss Rivera. But you might be the last if this continues.”
Her throat tightened. “Meaning?”
He leaned forward, his voice dropping low. “Meaning that someone in this building wants you gone — and I intend to find out who.”
---
Elena returned to her desk, pulse racing. Her inbox pinged again — a calendar notification from Ethan:
> Private debriefing — 7 PM, Roof Lounge. Mandatory.
Her gaze darted toward Adrian’s office. He was still watching her.
She exhaled shakily. Between the messages, the threats, and his cryptic warning, the tower suddenly felt less like a workplace and more like a cage.
But quitting wasn’t an option. She needed the job. The rent. The stability.
And, maybe deep down, she needed to know why Adrian Blackwell — the man who ruled entire industries — wrote like someone begging to be understood.
As she gathered her notes, a line from Project S echoed in her mind:
> The ghost I’ve kept.
She wasn’t sure anymore if that ghost was her… or someone else.
Elena’s heart raced as the elevator doors slid open. The document she’d been polishing for hours trembled slightly in her hands — 4 minutes past deadline. Adrian’s office door was half-open, his cold gaze snapping up the second she stepped in. “Four minutes,” he said evenly, voice like glass. “I expect precision, Miss Rivera.”
She swallowed, forcing composure. “Won’t happen again, sir.”
He took the folder without breaking eye contact. “See that it doesn’t.
A reminder came in as she left Adrian's Office
Private debriefing — 7 PM, Roof Lounge, #Ethan.
The night had only just begun.
- Writer
