They went up to the seventh floor. The executive assistant’s workspace was in a small office next to Victor Collins’s. It was a bright room with a view of the city, a new computer on the desk, and a comfortable chair.
“This is where you’ll be,” Irene said, placing the folder on the desk. “These are instructions, system access codes, a list of your duties. If you have any questions, just ask. Mr. Collins is in meetings all day, so you’ll have plenty of time to get settled.”
“Thank you.”
Sarah sat down and opened the folder. Irene left, and Sarah was alone. She skimmed the instructions. Managing documents, maintaining the director’s calendar, organizing meetings, tracking tasks. Nothing too difficult, all familiar duties. She turned on the computer, entered her passwords, and opened her email. A few messages were already waiting: welcome notes from colleagues, reminders about upcoming meetings.
Sarah remembered the recorder. She took it out of her bag and held it for a moment, thinking. This really did feel like paranoia. But what did she have to lose? She leaned down and attached the recorder with its magnetic clip to the underside of her desk, in the farthest corner. She turned it on. Now the device would record everything that happened in this office.
The day started quietly. Sarah sorted documents, answered phone calls, and prepared reports. By lunch, she was already feeling more confident. The work was straightforward, her colleagues polite.
Around three o’clock, a woman in her mid-thirties walked into her office: tall, slim, in an expensive suit. Dark hair pulled back in a severe ponytail, bold makeup, a confident stride.
“You’re the new assistant?” she asked without a greeting.
“Yes, my name is Sarah,” Sarah stood up. “And you are?”
“Veronica, VP of Finance,” the woman looked her up and down. “I hope you last longer than the others.”
“The others?” Sarah frowned.
“There were three before you in the last six months,” Veronica smirked. “None of them made it past two months. Mr. Collins is demanding. But if you can handle it, your career is set.”
She turned and walked out, leaving a faint trail of expensive perfume. Sarah slowly sat back down. Three assistants in six months? Why hadn’t anyone mentioned that in the interview? She went back to her work, but the thought bothered her.
An hour later, Veronica appeared in the doorway again, this time with a flash drive.
“Sarah, I need these documents signed immediately,” she said, holding out the drive. “They’re important papers, a contract with investors.”
Sarah took the flash drive and plugged it into her computer.
“But Mr. Collins isn’t here,” she said, surprised, as she opened the files. “Shouldn’t he be the one to sign these?”
“That’s why I’m talking to you,” Veronica leaned against the desk. “You have access to the electronic signature. This needs to be done quickly, or we’ll lose major investors.”
Sarah opened the first document. It was long, written in fine print, filled with legal jargon. She started to read, but Veronica tapped her fingers impatiently on the desk.
“There’s no time to read it,” she said sharply. “Just sign. It’s a standard procedure. Mr. Collins himself told me to give these to you.”
“But I should at least look it over…”
“Listen,” Veronica leaned in closer, her voice hardening. “This is your first day. You’re still on probation. If you blow this deal because you have doubts, you’ll be out of here faster than the others. Understand?”
Sarah swallowed hard. She couldn’t lose this job. Not after everything that had happened. Not after six months of humiliation and being broke.
“Okay,” she said quietly and opened the e-signature program.
Veronica watched her, arms crossed. Sarah entered the password, selected the files, and clicked the sign button. The program processed the documents for a few seconds, then displayed a confirmation.
“Excellent,” Veronica took the flash drive. “Good job. Quick and no questions. Keep it up.”
She left, and Sarah sat staring at her computer, a vague sense of unease creeping over her. Something was wrong. Something about the rush, the pressure, the way Veronica had pushed her.
Half an hour later, a young man from accounting—Arthur, he introduced himself—came by.
“Sarah, we have a problem with the reports,” he said, placing a stack of papers on her desk. “We need to reconcile these numbers urgently. Mr. Collins asked you to handle it.”
“But I’m not an accountant,” she said, flustered. “I don’t know…”
“It’s not hard,” he opened a file on her computer. “Just transfer this data into the spreadsheet and calculate the totals.”
“I don’t have time, I’m swamped with work.”
“You’re the executive assistant, which means you assist all departments.”
Sarah looked at the screen. Numbers, columns, formulas. She had never dealt with accounting on this scale.
“I’ll try,” she mumbled.
Arthur left, and she began to tackle the spreadsheets. The numbers blurred, the formulas didn’t add up. By five PM, her head was pounding.
Next, another employee, Ann from marketing, came by.
“Sarah, can you help?” she spoke quickly, nervously. “I need to prepare a presentation for clients, urgently.”
“I’m swamped, and Mr. Collins said you would help.”
“But I…”
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