Chapter 4 - Across the Mahogany Desk
The heavy oak door of the study swung open slowly under Kayla’s trembling hand. The room smelled intensely of aged leather, pipe tobacco, and expensive bourbon. Gunther Woods sat behind the massive mahogany desk, his tailored navy jacket removed, his sleeves rolled up to reveal strong, corded forearms covered in faint, faded scars. He did not look up immediately. He was staring down at an open manila folder—her folder.
“Close the door, Kayla,” Gunther said, his voice deep, flat, and chillingly calm.
Kayla stepped inside, pulling the heavy door shut behind her with a soft click that sounded like a lock turning. She remained standing by the entrance, her hands clasped tightly in front of her gray apron.
“Mr. Woods,” she managed to say, her voice barely above a whisper. “I... I want to apologize for last night. It was completely unprofessional. I didn't mean to fall asleep. I just felt dizzy, and the room—it was an accident. You can dock my pay. You can fire me. Just please don't—”
“Don't what?” Gunther interrupted, finally looking up from the desk. His dark eyes locked onto hers with an intensity that made her breath hitch. “Don't ruin your life? Don't make sure you never work in this city again?”
“I have a brother,” Kayla blurted out, the panic overriding her fear as she took a half-step forward. “Sam. He’s twelve. He had an accident last year. The medical bills... the physical therapy... if I lose this job, he can't get the treatment he needs to walk. I'll do anything. I'll clean the garage, the basements, the stables—anything. Just don't take this away.”
Gunther leaned back in his leather chair, studying her face with an unnerving, clinical detachment. He didn't interrupt. He let her plead, watching the way her hands shook, the way the dark circles under her eyes seemed to deepen under the study lights.
“You think I brought you down here to fire you,” Gunther said quietly, leaning his elbows on the desk and resting his chin on his interlaced fingers.
“Didn't you?” Kayla asked, her voice dropping to a vulnerable register.
“If I wanted you fired, Mrs. Gable would have thrown you out before dawn,” Gunther replied, sliding the manila folder across the mahogany surface toward her. “Sit down, Kayla.”
Kayla hesitated, her eyes darting from the chair opposite the desk back to Gunther’s impenetrable expression. Slowly, she walked forward and lowered herself onto the edge of the leather seat, keeping her spine rigid.
“Read what’s on page three,” Gunther commanded, pointing a slender finger at the open document.
Kayla glanced down. It was a detailed medical breakdown of Sam’s therapy schedule, along with an itemized invoice from the city’s top pediatric orthopedic clinic—an invoice stamped PAID IN FULL as of four o'clock that morning, paid through a private corporate trust managed directly by Woods Enterprises.
May you like
Kayla’s breath caught in her throat. She looked up, her eyes wide with shock and sudden, burning tears. “What... what is this? Why did you pay this?”
“Because I don't like my employees collapsing from exhaustion on my property,” Gunther said smoothly, though there was a strange warmth flickering beneath his cold exterior. “And because you’re a hard worker who doesn't steal, doesn't gossip, and keeps her head down. But that changes today.”
