Mila leaned closer:
— I heard a lady talking on the phone today. She was in the room where my mom cleans the floors. The room with the big cabinets and the flower on the window. Mom told me to sit in the hallway, but I was thirsty and went to find her. And I heard.
Pavel felt something tense inside him. An instinct, honed by years of running a business, instantly sounded an alarm.
— What did you hear? — he asked as calmly as possible, trying not to show his sudden burst of interest.
— The lady said she would give someone important papers in the evening. — Mila frowned, trying to remember. — She said: ‘He won’t even guess. It’s his own fault for not appreciating me and not paying me properly.’ And then something about how she’ll have a new job where everything will be better. And she also said: ‘By Friday, it’ll all be over, and I’ll be free.’
Pavel’s blood ran cold. He straightened up, feeling the back of his neck grow cold.
— Mila, listen to me carefully, — he said, trying to keep his voice even. — Can you describe this lady?
Pavel looked at her lower lip.
— She has long red nails, — she began, bending her fingers. — Shiny, like a princess from a cartoon. And she smells like strawberries. I liked the smell. And she has dark, shoulder-length hair. And she wears high heels that go ‘clack-clack’ on the floor. Mom says they’re uncomfortable to walk in, but they look pretty.
Pavel felt the ground slipping from under his feet. This description could only fit one person—Svetlana Beregay, the head of HR. Forty-six years old, five years with the company, always well-groomed, always with a flawless cherry-red manicure. The strawberry perfume was her signature scent, which everyone in the office knew and could detect from several meters away.
— Thank you very much, Mila, — he said, trying to smile. — You’ve been a great help. But let’s keep this our little secret, okay? Don’t tell anyone. Not even your mom for now. It’s important.
— Okay, — the girl nodded readily. — I can keep secrets. Mom says I’m the most reliable.
Pavel watched her go—Mila ran back to her coloring books—while he took out his phone and strode quickly towards his office. His fingers tapped the screen, dialing his secretary’s number. Alena Strunina, 29 years old. She had been working for him for three years. Efficient, precise, never asking unnecessary questions.
— Alena, are you still in the office?
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