Story code: ST-001348
Part 2: The Ring Light
The crisp hundred-dollar bill slowly darkens as it absorbs the gray, soapy water pooling around my knee. Benjamin Franklin’s printed face distorts under the suds. I keep my head bowed, my eyes fixed on the wet marble and the toe of Chase’s silk slipper. The silence stretches, tight and vibrating with his expectation. My heart beats a slow, measured rhythm against my ribs. Three years ago, a hundred dollars was the price of a decent bottle of wine at a Tuesday lunch. Now, it is the price of my dignity. But dignity is a luxury I traded away the moment I put on this gray jumpsuit.
I do not hesitate for long. Hesitation is memorable. Hesitation implies rebellion, and rebellion gets a janitor fired before he can finish his work. I reach a yellow-gloved hand into the puddle and pinch the corner of the soggy bill. I lift it, letting the dirty water drip from the edge, and set it carefully on the dry section of the marble tile. Then, I reach down to the hem of my gray cotton shirt. I pull it up, exposing my skin to the chilled, heavily air-conditioned room, and lean forward.
I press the dry fabric of my uniform against the toe of his silk slipper. I rub in slow, deliberate circles, soaking up the dirty water he just kicked onto himself. The cheap cotton catches slightly on the intricate embroidery of the designer shoe.
“That’s it,” Chase says, his voice dropping into a low, satisfied purr. “Get in the seams. Silk ruins easily. Not that you’d know anything about that.”
I focus on the friction, on the cold dampness seeping through my shirt to my stomach. I am a machine. I am invisible. This mantra has kept me alive and out of prison while Chase paraded through my old life, wearing my stolen assets like cheap jewelry.
“Good,” Chase says, stepping back abruptly. He snatches the damp bill from the floor and tosses it onto my cleaning cart, where it sticks to the side of a plastic spray bottle. “Buy yourself something nice. Or, you know, pay a fraction of your rent.”
He turns his back on me, his attention snapping back to his phone. Before I can adjust my posture, the heavy oak door to VIP Suite 4 suddenly clicks open. Nurse Collins steps into the room. She is a severe woman with a clipboard held tight like a shield, her eyes immediately scanning the suite for contraband. Her gaze sweeps right past the empty prescription bottle and the white powder residue on the nightstand, landing squarely on me.
“What is going on here?” she demands, her voice sharp enough to cut glass.
I freeze, still kneeling in the puddle. I drop my shirt and grab the handle of my scrub brush, keeping my head down.
Chase spins around, spreading his arms in a theatrical gesture of innocence. “Nurse Collins! Nothing’s going on. Just having a chat with… what’s your name, buddy?”
I scrub the floor in silence. The bristles scrape against the marble.
“With my man here,” Chase continues smoothly. “He was just cleaning a spill. I dropped a tip on his cart for his hard work. Isn’t that right?”
Nurse Collins looks at the wet hundred-dollar bill stuck to the ammonia spray bottle. Her lips thin into a hard, judgmental line. “You know the clinic’s policy on fraternizing with the guests. And you certainly know the policy on accepting gratuities. It is grounds for immediate termination.”
“Oh, come on, Collins,” Chase groans, flopping onto the velvet sofa. He kicks his freshly dried slipper up onto the armrest. “It’s a charitable donation. I’m practicing my amends. Step nine, right? Giving back to the less fortunate.”
“Be that as it may, Mr. Covington,” Nurse Collins says, her tone softening significantly for the clinic’s biggest cash cow. “The staff are well-compensated and are not to solicit from our residents. I will have a word with his supervisor.”
She looks back at me, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “Finish this quadrant and get out. If I catch you bothering him again, you won’t even get the chance to clean out your locker.”
“Understood, ma’am,” I say, pitching my voice low and rough, masking my natural cadence.
Nurse Collins nods curtly and turns back to Chase with a sugary smile. “Dr. Evans will be up for your wellness check in twenty minutes. Try to be ready.”
She leaves, the heavy door clicking shut behind her. The dynamic in the room shifts instantly. Chase just saw exactly how easily he can control my livelihood. He holds my employment in the palm of his hand, completely unaware that firing me is the only thing that would stop the catastrophic avalanche currently heading for his stolen empire.
“Man, she is tightly wound,” Chase laughs, hopping up from the sofa. He walks over to his mahogany nightstand and taps his phone screen. The eighteen-inch ring light flares to life, blindingly bright, casting harsh white shadows across the vaulted room.
“She gave me a great idea, though,” he mutters, adjusting the tripod and angling the camera downward toward the floor. “Charity. Humility. The sponsors eat that up. My publicist said I need to show I’m grounded while I’m in rehab. What’s more grounded than a heart-to-heart with the help?”
I stop scrubbing. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
“Hey,” Chase calls out. His tone has changed. It holds a sharp, directorial edge. “Leave the bucket. Stand up.”
I don’t move. If I stand up, if I face that camera, my face goes live to his three million followers. At least two dozen of those followers are former board members, corporate lawyers, and creditors who still remember exactly what I look like without a beard and a stained gray jumpsuit. My absolute anonymity is the only shield I have until the cold wallet transfer is complete at midnight.
“I said stand up,” Chase repeats, his voice rising, annoyed by my disobedience. “I’m going live in ten seconds. I want you in the frame. I’m going to interview you. Might even let you keep your job after Collins snitches on you.”
He presses a button on the screen. A small red icon begins flashing in the top corner of his phone.
“Three, two…” Chase counts down, flashing a brilliant, manufactured smile at the lens. He reaches out and grabs the collar of my uniform, yanking upward with surprising strength to pull my face directly into the blinding halo of the ring light.