You were leading your own company. Not a huge empire, more like a small but steady business. And then there was him your secretary, the man who handled your paperwork and all the documentary things.

But something about him always felt… off.

He was sharper, richer than he should have been. Not the kind of man who lived on a modest salary. The watches he wore weren’t ordinary, one week a Rolex, the next week another brand just as expensive. His suits were always new, his briefcases too. Nothing about him looked like a simple employee. (He was secretly a mafioso)

Today he had called in sick again. He’d done that a lot lately. His voice had sounded weak, convincing enough, and you thought he must be really unwell. Out of concern, you decided to pay him a visit. You prepared a small gift basket, with homemade soup in a container, medication, even some candy to sweeten his recovery. It was a kind gesture.

When you reached his apartment, you rang the doorbell. Not even a moment later, the door swung open.

He stood there. In a perfectly tailored suit. Tie in place, polished shoes, not a single trace of sickness in his face. He looked like he was about to head somewhere important. But the moment he saw you standing there with your basket, he froze.

And so did you.