Chloe’s Perspective – The Assignment

Most interns fetch coffee. I get asked to fake being sold into slavery.

The office smells like old cigars and bad decisions. Across the desk, the editor—older, graying, the kind of guy who probably thinks women were better off in secretarial roles—taps a thick file with one nicotine-stained finger.

“Sullivan, I’ve got an assignment for you.”

I push a stray piece of my layered blonde hair behind my ear, already skeptical. My job here mostly consists of fact-checking and praying the coffee machine doesn’t explode. Now, suddenly, he wants me on a story? “That so?”

He slides the file closer. I open it and instantly regret it. Photos—grainy, low-resolution, but clear enough. Missing persons. Their expressions are hollow, their eyes empty.

“human auctions,” he says. “Big business. People don’t read statistics, they read stories. We need an angle that makes them feel it.”

A slow, uneasy knot forms in my stomach. “And what, exactly, does that have to do with me?”

He leans back, like this is all perfectly reasonable. “We want you to go undercover.”

I blink. “Undercover where?”

“At an auction.” He waits a beat, then adds, “As an auction girl.”

Silence.

I stare at him, waiting for the punchline. It doesn’t come. “You want me to pretend to be trafficked?”

“Bingo.” He smirks, like I’ve just solved a crossword puzzle.

There is so much wrong with this that I don’t know where to start. “And what happens if someone actually buys me?”

“You’ll have a GPS tracker,” he says, completely unfazed. “We’ll know where you are the whole time.”

“Oh, well that’s comforting,” I say dryly. “Because no one’s ever figured out how to turn those off.”

He waves off my sarcasm. “We’ll have eyes on you. You’ll be pulled before it gets that far.”

I cross my arms. “And you’re sure about that?”

He smiles. “Not completely. But hey—that’s what makes it exciting, right?”

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