Part 2
(Whose name he had not said out loud.
In seven years.)
“Where did you get this?” he said.
“My mother had it done,” the girl said.
“Seven years ago.”
“She kept it.”
“In case she ever needed it.”
He looked at the girl.
At the torn dress.
The bare feet on his polished floor.
“How old are you?” he said.
“Seven,” she said.
He did the mathematics.
Looked at the window.
At the city forty floors below.
At the empire he had built.
On decisions he had made.
Without thinking about consequences.
“What does she want?” he said.
The girl looked at him.
“She doesn’t want anything,” she said.
“She’s dead.”
The room went completely still.
The security guard stopped moving.
The assistant in the doorway pressed her hand to her mouth.
The CEO looked at the girl.
At seven years old standing in front of him.
Alone.
“When?” he said.
“Three months ago,” she said.
“Then why are you here?” he said.
The girl looked at the document still in his hand.
“Because she said you were the only family I had left.”
He sent everyone out.
The security guard.
The assistant.
Everyone.
Just him and the girl.
