The assignment paid slightly more than ordinary cleaning work.
It also required passing additional identity and employment checks.
Naomi almost refused.
She had spent the previous evening reviewing trust documents with Miriam Vale, and the idea of walking into her father's company wearing a service uniform felt unbearable.
Then she looked toward the medical invoice on her kitchen table.
Her mother had an appointment the following week.
The rent was due.
And Naomi's bank account didn't contain enough money to allow pride to decide the schedule.
She accepted.
The first morning, she arrived at six-thirty.
The headquarters occupied the upper floors of a glass skyscraper overlooking Manhattan, with polished marble reception areas, private elevators, and conference rooms named after cities where Northstar operated.
Naomi stood before the security desk wearing a navy-blue uniform, black flats, and a neatly tied white apron.
The receptionist barely glanced at her.
“Service entrance is around the corner.”
Naomi nodded.
“Thank you.”
She followed the signs.
The service elevator carried her toward the executive floors alongside two maintenance workers and a delivery cart filled with bottled water.
For a moment, she remembered visiting one of her father's smaller offices when she was twelve.
He had arranged a brief meeting during a trip to New York.
Naomi remembered the smell of coffee.
The diagrams on the walls.
And the way Samuel became animated whenever someone asked about his equipment.
He'd shown her a model of a hospital electrical system.
Then asked whether she wanted to press a button.
She did.
A small light changed color.
Samuel smiled.
“You see? When something goes wrong, the system needs a way to keep the important things working.”
Naomi looked toward him.
“Like the lights?”
He nodded.
“Like the lights.”
Then he added.
“And the equipment people are depending on.”
She smiled.
“That's your job?”
Samuel looked toward the model.
“For now.”
Naomi remembered that answer.
He'd spent his life making sure essential systems could respond when something failed.
And somehow, his own family had become the place where he couldn't make the right connection.
The thought followed her into the executive suite.
She spent the first morning preparing meeting rooms.
Refilling coffee supplies.
Polishing serving trays.
And learning which executives insisted upon particular brands of bottled water.
She also noticed something else.
Northstar employees spoke about Graham Whitlock with unusual caution.
Some admired him.
Others seemed frightened.