Story code: ST-000350
Part 2: The Evaluator
The chime of the doorbell echoed through the sterile living room, loud and jarring. Marcus stared at the front door, his pulse hammering against his ribs. He wiped his sweaty palms on the thighs of his jeans, forced his shoulders to relax, and walked toward the entryway.
He turned the deadbolt and pulled the door open. A man in a pristine charcoal suit stood on the porch, holding a thin silver tablet. The man’s face was sharp, his skin pale, and his icy blue eyes immediately darted past Marcus to scan the interior of the home.
“Marcus Vance?” the man asked, his voice flat and devoid of any conventional greeting.
“Yes,” Marcus said, stepping back to allow him room. “You must be the evaluator.”
“Mr. Sterling,” the man corrected, stepping over the threshold. He didn’t bother to wipe his polished shoes on the mat. “I am here to verify your living conditions prior to the final phase of your onboarding. As you were informed, the terms of your new contract strictly require a solitary lifestyle. No dependents. No spouses. No physical or emotional encumbrances that could be leveraged against you.”
“I understand,” Marcus lied smoothly, pushing the front door closed. “I live entirely alone.”
Sterling tapped the screen of his tablet, his eyes flicking upward to the walls. He walked slowly into the center of the living room, pivoting on his heel to take in the space. Marcus held his breath as Sterling’s gaze dragged over the cheap thrift-store lighthouse painting, then down to the barren mantelpiece where the wedding photo had stood just an hour ago.
“Fascinating,” Sterling murmured, running a gloved finger along the edge of the fireplace. “It looks almost like a staged model home. No personal effects. No photographs. Not even a book on the end tables.”
“I travel light,” Marcus said, keeping his tone carefully neutral. “I don’t like clutter.”
“Clutter,” Sterling repeated, turning the word over in his mouth as if tasting something sour. He tapped his tablet again. “Lead the way down the hall, Mr. Vance.”
Marcus walked ahead, his back prickling with a fresh layer of nervous sweat. He led Sterling past the dull floral prints masking the bright, unblemished patches of paint on the drywall. Sterling paused at each door, peering into the bathrooms and the empty home office.
“And this?” Sterling asked, stopping at the door to the guest room. The room where the heavy cardboard bin full of his daughter’s portraits and childhood memories sat hidden in the closet.
“Just a spare room,” Marcus said, swallowing hard. “I use it for storage mostly.”
Sterling pushed the door open. The room was sparsely furnished with a plain bed and a single nightstand. Sterling walked straight across the carpet toward the sliding closet doors. Marcus’s chest tightened so much he thought his ribs might crack. He shifted his weight, quietly calculating the distance between himself and Sterling, wondering if he could subdue the man before he could trigger whatever panic button he carried.
Sterling slid the closet door open. A row of heavy winter coats hung on a wooden rod. Beneath them, the spare woolen blanket completely covered the large cardboard bin. Sterling stared at the coats for a long, agonizing moment. He reached a gloved hand out.
Marcus braced his feet. If Sterling moved the blanket, it was over. He would find the smiling faces of Marcus’s wife and daughter, the school projects, the framed vacation photos. Everything would be exposed.
Sterling adjusted the collar of a thick parka, checking the brand tag, then pulled his hand back. “You have a lot of winter gear for a man who claims to travel light.”
“I get cold easily,” Marcus said, his voice remarkably steady despite the adrenaline flooding his veins.
“I see,” Sterling said, sliding the door shut with a sharp *clack*.
“Before we conclude the interior sweep, the garage,” Sterling said, turning away from the guest room.
Marcus nodded, leading him through the utility room. He opened the heavy fire door, flipping on the harsh fluorescent lights. The concrete space was mostly empty, save for his sedan and a few tools on a pegboard. In the darkest corner, the heavy tarp covered the lawnmower and the first cardboard bin holding the military shadowbox and his wedding photos.
Sterling walked around the perimeter, his leather shoes clicking against the concrete. He stopped near the tarp. He reached out, tapping his silver stylus against the thick plastic. “Lawn equipment?”
“Yes. Mower and an edger,” Marcus said, keeping his hands loosely at his sides. He pictured himself grabbing the heavy steel wrench off the nearby workbench. If Sterling lifted that tarp, Marcus would have to strike him.
But Sterling merely nodded and turned back toward the house. They moved back into the kitchen and living area. Marcus felt a dangerous flicker of hope. The worst was over. He had managed to pack away his entire life, hiding a decade of family history in a single, frantic afternoon, and this corporate ghost had suspected nothing.
Sterling stood by the kitchen island, typing rapidly on his tablet. “Everything appears to be in order, Mr. Vance. The physical inspection is satisfactory. Your home reflects a detached, unencumbered individual. Exactly what the organization requires for this assignment.”
“Thank you,” Marcus said, stepping toward the front door to show the man out. “When do we finalize the paperwork?”
“Tomorrow,” Sterling said, tucking the tablet under his arm. “A secondary team will arrive at oh-eight-hundred to conduct the deep sweep.”
Marcus froze, his hand hovering over the doorknob. “Deep sweep?”
“Standard procedure,” Sterling said, adjusting his cuffs. “They will bring the UV scanners for biological tracing, as well as the digital forensics hub. We need to ensure no one else has been inhabiting this space in the last six months. Stray hair follicles, lingering DNA, hidden smart devices. If a solitary life is a lie, the biometric sweep will catch it.”
Marcus felt the blood drain from his face. He had hidden the pictures and the toys, but his wife and daughter had lived here for years. Their DNA was embedded in the carpets, caught in the HVAC filters, trapped in the shower drains. He could never scrub the house clean enough by tomorrow morning.
Before Marcus could even begin to process a way out, a soft, pleasant chime echoed from the far corner of the kitchen counter.
Marcus’s eyes snapped toward the sound. Hidden behind the coffee maker was the small, cylindrical smart-home speaker he had completely forgotten to unplug.
A cheerful, synthetic female voice filled the tense, dead silence of the room. “Reminder. Sophie’s pediatric dental appointment is in exactly two hours.”
Sterling stopped halfway to the door. He slowly turned around, his pale blue eyes locking onto the glowing blue ring of the speaker, and then shifting upward to meet Marcus’s terrified gaze.