It had been a couple of days since Hank had last ventured into the swirling vortex of Instagram, his attention consumed by the demands of his work and the intricate dance of his personal life. He finally opened the app, the familiar interface greeting him with a barrage of notifications, a digital cacophony of likes, comments, and direct messages. His eyes, however, were immediately drawn to a message from @Fiona&Molly, its urgency and sincerity radiating through the screen. He tapped on it, his heart quickening with a sense of anticipation.
"Dear @HankShootsReal," the message began, its words carefully chosen, each phrase a testament to the profound impact he had made. "Words, we have discovered, are utterly inadequate to express the depth of our gratitude. Fiona… she cried for hours, not tears of sadness, but of a cathartic release, a healing balm for a wound that seemed irreparable. The way you so delicately, so lovingly, implemented her father into her picture, it was as if you had woven a piece of his soul back into her world. We printed it out, of course, and it now hangs proudly over the mantle, a constant, tangible reminder of his presence, right beside his framed military portrait. It is her most cherished possession. Fiona says that when she grows up, she wants to be like you. She wants to help children, like you helped her, to rediscover their smiles, to experience a moment of pure, unadulterated happiness, even if it is fleeting. She wants to learn your craft, to understand how you capture those precious moments, those fleeting glimpses of joy. All children, she says, deserve a friend like you."
Hank’s eyes welled up, a lump forming in his throat. He blinked back the tears, his heart aching with a bittersweet mix of joy and sorrow. He had never considered himself a savior, a beacon of hope. He was simply a photographer, a man with a camera and a desire to capture beauty. But this… this was different. This was a testament to the power of his art, the ability to heal, to mend broken hearts, to bring light into the darkest of corners.
"We hope," the message continued, "that you never change who you are. Your kindness, your empathy, your ability to see beyond the surface, are gifts that should be shared with the world. We recently joined a support group, mostly for Fiona, to connect with other children who are navigating similar losses. She wishes you could be there. She wants to ask you, personally, to help her make the other children smile too. She believes that your presence would bring them immeasurable comfort."
As Hank finished reading, a wave of emotion washed over him. The sheer vulnerability of their words, the raw honesty of their plea, resonated deep within him. He started to think, perhaps Fiona was right. Thousands of people died every day, leaving behind a trail of grief and loss, especially for children. He looked over at the bed, where Tiffany lay sleeping, her face serene and peaceful. She had a flight in a few hours, but there was no rush. He then reached for a notepad, his mind buzzing with ideas, a newfound sense of purpose igniting within him.
His phone dinged, interrupting his thoughts. He opened the message, a smirk playing on his lips. "Good morning, lover," Constance wrote, her tone laced with her usual dry wit. "I thought you should know that last night, while you no doubt were… occupied with Tiffany, Julie moved in. Her mother has officially cut all ties with me, thinking what we have is 'disgusting.'" Hank shook his head, a wave of sympathy washing over him. He knew how important family was to Julie, and the rift between her and her mother must be painful. "Also," Constance continued, "you have to work today. You took yesterday off for the photoshoot, but there's something I need you to do. Call me when you're in the office."
Hank glanced at the clock. It was still early, six thirty. He smiled, a sense of purpose settling within him. He leaned over and gently kissed Tiffany on the forehead, his touch light and tender. Then, he walked towards the bathroom, the promise of a hot shower and a busy day ahead filling him with a quiet sense of anticipation.
---
At precisely seven twenty-five, Hank stepped out of the elevator, the doors sliding open with a soft, mechanical sigh. He strode purposefully towards his office, his footsteps echoing softly in the otherwise quiet hallway. He unlocked the door and with a flick of his wrist, raised the blinds, allowing the morning sunlight to flood the room. He opened the blinds toward the open office space too. Today, he wanted to be seen, to project an aura of confident presence. He wanted them all to know he was there, a silent declaration of his authority.
He settled into the temporary desk, the smooth surface cool beneath his fingertips, and opened his laptop. The Hanigan Investment logo, a sleek, stylized "H-I," bloomed on the screen, its subtle elegance inviting him into the digital realm of his work. He smiled, a flicker of amusement in his eyes, as he noted that two employees were already logged into the company network. William, predictably, was on the second floor, his presence a constant, reassuring hum in the background. But there was another name, a new entry he hadn't noticed before, also logged into the second-floor network: "Lisa Yu."
He whispered the name, rolling the syllables off his tongue, a hint of intrigue in his voice. He navigated to the company's personnel files and pulled up Lisa's profile. He leaned back in his chair, his eyes scanning the information on the screen. She had been hired as an intern, just two days ago. His life had been a whirlwind of activity lately, and he wondered who had made the hiring decision. Interns were typically unpaid, their value measured by their potential to contribute, to generate profit.
He clicked on her profile picture, and his breath hitched slightly. She was a vision of Asian beauty, a goddess sculpted from moonlight and shadow. Her long, raven-black hair, thick and lustrous, cascaded down her shoulders, framing a face of exquisite proportions. Her eyes, deep and obsidian black, held a captivating intensity, a silent promise of hidden depths. Her smile, captured in the static image, was a delicate curve of her lips, a subtle hint of warmth that radiated through the screen. It was a smile that hinted at a playful intelligence, a quiet confidence.
Hank's knowledge of Asian cultures was limited, a patchwork of facts gleaned from college social studies and a general awareness of global demographics. He knew, of course, that Asians comprised over half the world's population, a vast and diverse tapestry of forty-eight countries and over twenty-three hundred languages. He also knew, with a visceral certainty, that he was drawn to the exotic beauty of Asian women, their features a captivating blend of strength and grace. And Lisa Yu, he admitted to himself, was among the most stunning he had ever seen.
His phone chimed, breaking his reverie. He glanced at the screen, a familiar name appearing in the notification. "Well, you are in the office, and my phone hasn't rung yet," Constance wrote, her tone laced with a playful reprimand. Hank chuckled, a low, amused sound. He tapped the call icon, his finger lingering on the screen for a moment before pressing it.
"Good morning, love," Constance's voice, warm and melodious, greeted him as she answered the call. Hank chuckled, a low, amused sound. "Four minutes. I've been here for four minutes," he teased, his voice laced with playful exasperation. He could hear her beautiful laugh, a sound that always brought a smile to his lips. "I know. I saw you log in," she replied, her voice filled with amusement. "So, what's this task you have for me?" Hank asked, his tone shifting to one of professional curiosity.
Constance took a deep breath, the sound audible through the phone. "I need you to fire Johanna Day," she said, her voice firm and resolute. Hank's smirk widened, a flicker of dark satisfaction in his eyes. His memory of Johanna was far from pleasant, a distasteful encounter that had left a sour taste in his mouth. He recalled the blatant proposition, the crude offer of employment in exchange for sexual favors, the blatant disregard for professional boundaries. He wondered how many qualified candidates had been turned away, their potential stifled by Johanna's predatory behavior, their faith in the company tarnished.
"Alright," Hank replied, his voice flat, devoid of emotion. "William reported to me what she did when you were pretending to be interested in a job," Constance explained, her voice laced with a hint of disgust. Hank chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. "Yeah, not exactly a good hiring process," he remarked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "No," Constance agreed, her voice hardening. "And I was told it has happened before. In fact, three out of every five new hires were hired under that… demand. It's not just Johanna."
"So, from now on," Constance continued, her voice firm and decisive, "a memo will go out. Only you, or I, can hire new interns." Hank nodded, a sense of grim satisfaction settling within him. "That's not a bad idea," he conceded. "But you'll need a desk for yourself here. You can't hire if you're not here." She laughed, a light, airy sound. "The office next to yours is getting set up this weekend, and your new desk is getting delivered too. Monday, I'll work right there with you," she replied, her voice filled with anticipation. Hank smiled, his gaze drifting towards the connecting door between their offices. "And who's your secretary?" he asked, his curiosity piqued.
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"I hired Doria," Constance replied. "She has experience. Yes, she's a volleyball coach, but she wants a real job. And as she said, she'll be closer to you every day." Hank chuckled, a low, amused sound. "Unless you want to trade," Constance teased. "I take Gloria, and you get Doria." Hank shook his head, though she couldn't see it. "No… I'm keeping Gloria. She's good at her job, and she brings me coffee every morning," he replied, just as Gloria walked out of the elevator, two steaming coffee cups in her hands. She headed straight towards his office, a warm smile gracing her lips. He waved her in, and she entered, her movements graceful and efficient. "Good morning, Mr. Avery," she greeted him, her voice soft and respectful. Then, sensing he was on the phone, she turned to leave.
Constance laughed, a rich, full-bodied sound. "Tell me, Hank," she asked, her voice laced with playful curiosity. "Did you check out her ass as she left?" Hank smirked, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. "Truth?" he asked. "Yes," Constance replied, her voice firm. "You promised me no secrets." "Okay," Hank admitted, his voice laced with a hint of playful admiration. "Yeah, I did. Her leggings are fucking tight this morning. Her ass is firm and looks like fresh buns from the bakery." Constance laughed hard, the sound echoing through the phone. "Wow, really detailed," she exclaimed, her voice still laced with amusement. "Maybe if you play your cards right, you might get a chance to take a bite of those buns."
Hank smirked, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "So, fire Johanna. Anything else?" he asked, his tone shifting back to professional. His computer chimed, signaling the arrival of an email. He opened it, his eyes scanning the contents. "I sent you a list," Constance said, her voice now all business. "Each of these employees needs to be checked out. They all hired interns. Talk to the interns. If sex was used as the reason for being hired, the one who hired them is fired." Hank nodded, his expression grim. "Hank, you can read people better than anyone I know," Constance continued, her voice firm. "Talk to the interns. We have thirty-four of them. I want to know everything." "Very well," Hank replied, his voice laced with a quiet determination.
"And Hank," Constance added, her voice softening slightly. "This afternoon, we're going car shopping. I hope you know what car you want." Hank smiled, a hint of playful mystery in his eyes. "Oh, I know exactly what car I want," he replied. "And?" Constance asked, her curiosity piqued. "You'll just have to wait and see," Hank replied, his voice laced with a playful promise. Constance laughed, a light, airy sound, and then hung up.
---
It was nearing one in the afternoon, the sun casting shadows across Hank's office. He had spent the early day interviewing the company's interns, a task he found both necessary and, in some cases, disturbingly revealing. But now, the interview he had been anticipating was about to begin. A soft knock echoed from his door, and he called out, "Come in."
The door swung open, and Lisa Yu stepped into the room, and Hank’s breath caught in his throat. Her picture, he realized, had been a mere shadow of her true beauty. In person, she was breathtaking, an ethereal vision that defied description. Her long, black hair, like polished obsidian, cascaded down her back, framing a face that could have been sculpted by angels. Her eyes, dark and luminous, held a depth that seemed to draw him in, a silent invitation to explore the hidden depths of her soul. Her lips, full and perfectly shaped, held a subtle curve, a hint of a smile that promised untold pleasures. She was an angel, a goddess, a dream made flesh. He could almost forgive anyone for offering her a job in exchange for her body, but the thought still filled him with disgust.
He stood up, his movements fluid and graceful, and extended his hand. "Good afternoon, Miss Yu," he greeted her, his voice smooth and professional, though a hint of something deeper, something more primal, lingered beneath the surface. Her hand, when she took his, was soft and warm, delicate yet firm, an electric current passing between them. Hank smiled, forcing himself to maintain his composure. "Your email said you wanted to talk to me, Mr. Avery," she said, her voice a melodious whisper, like the gentle chime of wind chimes.
Hank gathered his scattered thoughts, the image of her lingering in his mind. "Yes," he replied, his voice slightly husky. He had to remain professional, to focus on the task at hand, even though every fiber of his being screamed at him to ask her out, to explore the intoxicating allure that radiated from her. "It has come to the company's attention that some of the interns have been hired under… unconventional circumstances," he explained, his voice carefully neutral. Lisa nodded, her expression thoughtful. "I've heard," she replied. "I was fortunate. I was hired by a very nice woman. But some of the others… their stories were less pleasant."
Hank nodded, his expression grim. "Who hired you?" he asked. Lisa smiled, a warm, genuine smile that lit up her face. "Mrs. Miller from the third floor. She's a friend of my mother's. She heard I needed a job and told me about your intern program." Hank pulled up her profile on his computer, his eyes scanning the information. He clicked on her performance numbers, his eyebrows raising in surprise. "You're a fast learner," he commented, his voice laced with admiration. "In just two days, you've excelled. Your numbers are… impressive."
Lisa smiled, a hint of pride in her eyes. "Thank you, Mr. Avery," she said, her voice a soft, seductive murmur. The way she said his name, the subtle inflection, sent a shiver down his spine. "I also noted that you're here early, both yesterday and today," Hank continued, his gaze lingering on her face. Lisa nodded, a hint of weariness in her eyes. "The bus from my apartment only comes once an hour. If I take the later bus, I'll be late." Her voice was soft, almost a whisper. Hank nodded, his expression softening. The poor girl was losing two hours of her personal time each day, simply because of the unreliable bus schedule. He made a mental note to find a solution, to offer her a full-time position, with a decent salary, to alleviate her commute.
"Can you tell me about the other interns?" he asked, his voice gentle. "Who was hired under these unconventional circumstances?" Lisa nodded, her expression serious. "Nadia on the second floor. She was hired by Bill," she replied. Hank made a note. "Colin from the third floor. He was hired by Johanna," she continued, her voice barely a whisper, as if she feared Johanna might be listening. She then mentioned three other names, two girls and another guy, each story a variation on the same theme: sexual coercion, abuse of power, and a blatant disregard for professional ethics.
"Lisa, you've been very helpful," Hank said, his voice sincere. "If you have any concerns in the future, my door is always open. Or just shoot me an email." Lisa smiled, her eyes sparkling. "Thank you, Mr. Avery," she replied. Hank stood up, extending his hand once more. "No," he corrected her, his voice firm. "Thank you, Miss Yu. Your information will help me clean up a little. We need to run a clean business here, and I'll make sure we do."
She smiled, her hand lingering in his a moment longer than necessary, her touch sending a jolt of electricity through his veins. "Keep up the good work," Hank said, his voice husky. "You'll be here full time in no time." "I would like that, Mr. Avery," she whispered, her voice a seductive promise. She turned and walked out of the office, her movements graceful and fluid, leaving Hank standing there, his thoughts a chaotic mix of professional duty and raw, undeniable desire. He shook his head, forcing himself to focus, to push aside the impure thoughts that threatened to consume him.
Before Hank descended into the unpleasant task of terminating employees, he placed a call to Constance, relaying the disturbing findings of his interviews. He detailed the accounts he had gathered, the patterns of coercion and exploitation that had emerged. In total, six individuals would be terminated. Out of the thirty-four interns interviewed, nine had openly admitted to being hired under duress, their voices trembling with a mixture of fear and relief. One intern, however, had attempted to defend Bill, claiming a consensual relationship, the implication being that the sexual encounters were part of their romantic involvement. But Hank, ever meticulous, had cross-referenced this claim with Bill's personnel file, revealing a stark contradiction: Bill was married. This blatant lie further solidified the pattern of abuse. Three other interns had been reluctant to divulge details, their body language and hesitant responses speaking volumes. Hank, with his keen ability to read people, had discerned the truth between the lines, the unspoken stories of exploitation and manipulation. He also noted that three of the female interns had been hired by Bill, a fact that thoroughly destroyed the lie of a relationship.
"Go ahead and fire them," Constance instructed, her voice firm and unwavering. "Have security present and confiscate their access badges. We don't need another incident with burned furniture." Hank smirked, a dark amusement flickering in his eyes. He recalled the last termination, a messy affair that had resulted in property damage, arrests, and a police report. "Yeah, good idea," he agreed, the image of scorched office furniture flashing through his mind. Constance hung up, and Hank immediately placed another call, requesting security personnel to meet him on the fifth floor. He would begin there, working his way down, the methodical approach mirroring his meticulous investigation. Johanna Day, the architect of much of the company’s current problem, would be the last to face his judgment.
His phone chimed, a new text message from Constance appearing on the screen. "Fire the girl who claimed she was in a relationship with Bill too," she wrote, her tone leaving no room for argument. "She's lying, and we can't condone that." Hank nodded, a grim satisfaction settling within him. He had already come to the same conclusion. The lie was a calculated attempt to protect Bill, a desperate act of self-preservation that ultimately revealed her complicity in his predatory behavior.
