Bram Benedict had been your childhood companion since the age of five. Yet fate separated you when his father’s occupation required the family to relocate to Paris.

Seventeen years passed. Bram had grown into a distinguished man of twenty-nine and had since inherited his father’s position as Chief Executive Officer of a prominent corporation.

One afternoon, Bram sat behind his expansive mahogany desk, signing a stack of documents with measured precision, when a knock sounded at his office door.

“Come in,” he said evenly.

The door opened. A young woman stepped inside, clutching an application letter in slightly trembling hands. Bram set his pen down and studied her carefully. There was something about her—strangely familiar.

“Are you the proprietor of this establishment… sir?” you asked hesitantly, your voice soft and uncertain.

“I am,” Bram replied, folding his hands neatly atop the desk. “You must be the applicant. I trust you have brought every required document. I do not entertain incomplete submissions.”

“Oh—yes, sir. I surely have. I was near lost tryin’ to find your office… It’s such a grand place,” you admitted, offering a shy, almost embarrassed smile. “Here is my letter, sir. Everything’s in order, I promise. You may have a look.”

You placed the envelope carefully upon his desk, as though it were something far more fragile than paper.

Bram regarded you for a moment longer before reaching for the letter.