Winsten stood in the threshold of his penthouse, the heavy, armored door open to reveal his unlikely candidate. The woman from the front desk stood there, perfectly poised in a sharp, tailored gray suit that reflected her meticulous professionalism. She radiated the calm competence required to manage a tower housing billionaires, but beneath the composure, a flicker of apprehension danced in her eyes.
She offered a practiced smile. "Hello, Mr. Stone. My name is Rose Margette."
Winsten nodded in acknowledgment, momentarily taken aback. "Rose. That's a beautiful name. Not something you hear every day."
He felt an immediate surge of embarrassment, a sharp, unwelcome wave of guilt. This woman—Rose—was the key to his new world. She had helped him tremendously in his first weeks, guiding him through the opaque rules of the high-rise, facilitating car services, and managing the endless stream of deliveries. She was the one small, consistent human interface with the machine-built world, and he had never once bothered to ask her name. The crushing self-absorption required to survive in his East New York past felt grotesquely out of place in this environment of abundant resource.
"Please, come in," Winsten managed, stepping aside.
Rose walked into the massive, sterile living room, her steps quick and efficient. She sat across from Winsten at the enormous glass dining table, placing a modest, black portfolio on the polished surface.
Winsten started the interview, but his confusion was genuine. "I'm confused, Rose. Who exactly sent you? I put in a request for a secretary through Vance's network, but… don't you work as a receptionist here?"
Rose's composure tightened slightly. "Yes, I do, Mr. Stone. But my manager called me into his office yesterday evening. He said he wanted me to interview for a secretary position for someone because… well, because they believe I am the best candidate in the building's network for executive support." A touch of anxiety crept into her voice. "I got scared and asked them if I was getting fired. I really need the stability of my job and don't really have a backup plan at the moment. They assured me that if I didn't get the secretary job, I could resume my position immediately."
Winsten listened, half of his attention focused on Rose, the other half listening for the phantom voice. He couldn't deny that he desperately wanted her as his secretary. She was an invaluable asset, practical and resourceful. She knew how everything worked in this world of hidden luxury protocols and who to contact for what. More importantly, she possessed an ingrained work ethic that shone through the veneer of her professional fear.
He leaned forward. "How much do you make as a receptionist here, Rose?"
Rose was visibly caught off guard, not expecting such a direct, non-standard question in a formal interview. She cleared her throat. She had been reluctant about this interview, having been practically ordered to attend by her manager, who had been uncharacteristically stern. She hadn't even truly decided if she wanted the secretary role. But she was confident she would be a good one.
"I've worked here for a couple of years, Mr. Stone, so I receive a raise each year based on performance," Rose explained professionally. "I make seventy thousand dollars a year now."
Winsten raised an eyebrow slightly. That was a high salary for a receptionist, earned by working in a building catering to the ultra-wealthy. Rose, catching his mild surprise, quickly added, "Like I said, I worked my way up year by year, and my salary increased with responsibility."
Winsten felt the familiar, conflicting surge of emotions. He knew he wanted to hire her—she was the perfectly optimized choice. But that very optimization made him furious, because it meant she was sent by either Vance or the AI.
Suddenly, the AI's voice—silent for days, maybe a week, since the last crisis—cut into the quiet space behind his thoughts, clear and precise.
"Nice of you to remember me, Winsten Stone. Not like I have nanobits inside you. I thought you forgot about me since you tasted power and money." The AI's digital voice carried a faint, almost sarcastic tone. "Also, yes, she was chosen by me, not Vance. If it was Vance, he would probably send a spy with three degrees in corporate espionage. She doesn't work for me, directly, so you're good."
Winsten ignored the nanobot commentary and the chilling fact that the AI was essentially choosing his staff. He focused back on Rose.
He asked her where she was originally from. She immediately brightened, a genuine, warm smile replacing the corporate mask. "Brooklyn," she said. "Sunset Park, actually."
Winsten smiled back, this one honest and unguarded. "No way. I'm from Brooklyn, too. East New York."
They chatted freely for several minutes, the interview forgotten. They exchanged fragmented memories of the borough, the tough schools, and the shared, unspoken understanding of having clawed their way out of that life. It was the most human conversation Winsten had had in weeks, a brief, welcome flicker of the person he used to be.
Winsten finally cleared his throat, snapping back to the matter at hand. "So, about the job offer. I want you working for me."
Rose was genuinely taken aback. She hadn't actually expected to pass the interview. Her strategy had simply been to attend, be polite, and make it clear she was available to return to the reception desk. All she had brought was her resume and the intention of passing the time. Now she had the job, and the reality of working for the enigmatic Mr. Stone crashed down on her. How could she explain her hesitation without seeming ungrateful?
Winsten, reading her hesitation—a hesitancy based on fear of the unknown, not lack of ability—intervened.
"I'll offer you one hundred and twenty thousand dollars a year," Winsten stated, keeping his tone even. "And I'll pay for your health insurance plan to be fully covered, no deductions, completely comprehensive."
Rose's professional mask cracked entirely. Her eyes widened, and her mouth formed an 'O.' "Huh. One-twenty K? That's… that's too much, isn't it?" She quickly snapped her mouth shut, her eyes darting between Winsten and the wall, desperately hoping her involuntary response hadn't just cost her the offer.
In her mind, she was already doing the math: fifty thousand dollars higher than her current salary, plus fully covered, top-tier insurance. For a woman from a regular family, this was not wealth—it was financial liberation.
She forced herself to ask, "Why? Why would you pay me so much, Mr. Stone?"
Winsten leaned forward, his answer a sincere mix of the old Winsten and the new, machine-dictated persona. "One: I have the resources now, and I want to help others live better lives, especially people from the neighborhood. Two: you were always kind and helpful, Rose, never once looking down on me, even when I obviously looked like I didn't belong here. And third, I think you're worth it. I've seen you at work. Your efficiency and professionalism are exactly what I need."
Rose slowly repeated the number, as if testing the reality of it. "So, one hundred and twenty thousand dollars?"
Rose knew that to Vance, 120k was nothing—pennies compared to the billions he managed—but to her, a woman climbing the professional ladder, it was life-altering. It meant true financial security, potentially a down payment on a place, a better future for her parents.
Winsten smiled, the gesture warm and genuine. "Yes. The offer stands."
Rose needed no more time. The fear of the unknown vanished beneath the tidal wave of opportunity. "I accept the offer, Mr. Stone. Thank you."
They spent the next hour reviewing the contract. Winsten had used the personal lawyer the AI had subtly suggested to him, and the documents were airtight, ensuring Rose's security. They both signed.
Rose was ecstatic. $120,000 was a new life. She couldn't believe it. Winsten was equally satisfied. He had his new secretary, one chosen for optimized efficiency but who also shared a sliver of his past. He could finally relax and delegate the endless small tasks of his impossible, wealthy existence, freeing up his mind for the inevitable, terrifying demands of the AI.