“Before we begin, Mr. Glover, I need you to sign these nondisclosure and confidentiality agreements,” Mrs. Witt, a short woman with a blunt, chin-length haircut, tells me, sliding the contracts across the desk, where I sit inside her office in New York. I scrawl my name across the lines, dating them before setting the pen down and returning them to her side of the lacquered surface. “Very good. Welcome to Infidelity. On the outside, we are a Fortune 500 company that employs hundreds of people, from writers and photographers to janitorial personnel,” she states, sounding like she’s given this spiel many times before.

“But on the inside?” I prompt, resting my ankle on the opposite knee as I sit back in the leather chair.

“We create companionship opportunities. I say ‘we,’ but really, I don’t work for Infidelity, but rather its main investor, Demetri Enterprises. It is my job, as head of security, to make sure all of my employer’s assets remain that way, an asset, rather than a liability.”

“You’re the head of security?” I ask, unable to hide the surprise from my tone. The woman is a tiny little thing and looks to be almost two decades older than me.

Her face turns blank. “Yes. I am the brains, not the brawn. Obviously, they hired me to do the thinking, since men are only good for doing neck-down work.” She smirks.

“Touché,” I mumble, taking the jab since I had let the offensive outburst slip.

She nods once, her eyes sparkling with humor. “I have a background in the CIA and give even the best hackers in the world a run for their money. There’s only one person I know of who can find information faster than me, a literal genius who got his masters at MIT when he was just a teenager. I understand Seth Owens works with you at your security company.” She smiles, a look people usually get when talking about the “class clown” of our business.

“That he does,” I confirm, and she nods again.

“His talent is astounding. He’s actually the reason you’re here. When I called him for assistance, he said you would be the man for the job.”

“And what is the job exactly?” I question, wanting to move this along so I can get started… and get to the hotel suite before Clarice arrives.

“In order to tell you that, I need to explain what Infidelity really is. As I was saying, we create opportunities for companionship. It is sort of like an escort service, but we do not solicit sex. An Infidelity employee sets up a profile, and then a client can hire them by agreeing to a one-year contract. Well, not really a contract, but for lack of a better word. The employee’s profile is very detailed. They set their limits, what they are willing and unwilling to do, what they themselves are looking for in a companion, what they do in their life, all to make the most perfect match.” She reaches into a drawer and pulls out a file, flipping it open. Inside is a picture of a blonde woman with a pleasant smile on her face, along with a printed version of what looks like an online dating site profile.

“Missing, dead, or both?” I ask, my face turning grim.

“Just missing. She was alive as of this morning. Quincy Herald has been the companion of billionaire hotelier Jean LaRue for the past year. At the one-year mark, the employee and the client are able to renew their companionship if they mutually agree. Quincy decided not to re-up for another year, because she had earned enough money to start her own business—the reason she signed on with Infidelity in the first place. Mr. LaRue wasn’t happy with her decision and took it upon himself to make her stay,” she explains, and I shift in my seat, sitting up to lean over the file.

“And how do you know he’s taken her against her will? Maybe she wanted to stay with him, and they’re off just having a romantic getaway or some shit,” I prompt.

“Because the employee is always contacted separately from the client when it comes time to renew the agreement. I personally interviewed Quincy, and she was very adamant that she was not going to sign up for another year, because she was excited to finally start her bakery. They were finishing up the final three days of the one-year agreement. She had an appointment at a location to sign all the closing contracts on her storefront, but she never showed. When she wouldn’t answer her phone, her sister got scared. She’s also an Infidelity employee, so she knew the truth of what was going on and called us to look into it.”

“So there is no doubt this rich douche has taken her against her will. How do you know she was alive this morning?” I question.

“We got a call on the Infidelity emergency line. It was too quick to trace, but she was able to get out that she was in one of his hotels and had not been taken out of the country. We have reason to believe she is actually still in the state.” She taps out a few keystrokes on her laptop and then spins it around for me to see. “There has been no movement of Mr. LaRue’s private jet, no activity to indicate travel by other airlines. The only thing we’ve caught is footage of him forcibly leading her out to his garage at his Staten Island hotel and them getting into his car before leaving. We had our team watching the security cameras for his other hotels in the state so we could see if they arrived at one and we could go get her, but unfortunately, twenty minutes after they left the island, all security footage went black.”

“He turned off all the cams in all his hotels,” I state.

“Yes.”

“Well fuck.”

“Yep.”

“All right. I’ll get Seth on top of this. There’s nothing really I can do until we find out where she is. But if y’all find her, no one can get her out of there more safely than I can. I’m your best shot at her getting out of this alive,” I state. I'm not cocky; it’s the truth. I’m the person on the team they always call for situations like this. Even though I tower over my three coworkers, I’m the stealthiest but also the most levelheaded. I’m able to control my emotions when put under pressure. I’ve perfected the art of keeping myself somewhat disconnected. I know I come across as a heartless asshole most of the time, but it makes me damn good at my job.

“All right. Thank you, Mr. Glover,” Mrs. Witt replies.

“Just Glover is fine, ma’am.”

She nods, shaking my hand as we stand. “You can take the file with you, and I have all of your contact information from Seth. So if we get any news, I’ll call you ASAP.”