O Lord & the Queen - Elizabeth Stevens

1

Raegan

The best thing about my workplace was that the carpark was underground and my desk was in the basement, which meant I only had to see as many people who happened to be as late as I was on any given day. I didn’t have anything against people. I just had a problem with people who looked at me like I didn’t belong.

Most of the suits at Olafson International looked at me like I didn’t belong. It didn’t help the dislike of the establishment I’d been cultivating since my early teens, and it had certainly cemented a dislike for people who wore suits like they were the only measure of successful adulthood.

Not that I was interested in what most people considered successful adulthood, but no one likes to be made to feel lesser than.

My boss, Duncan, didn’t usually care if I was late in because he knew I’d both get the work done and I’d stay late as often as necessary. Most mornings, he just gave me a vague nod or wave from the desk in his office as I walked into the Dungeon, and that was about it. Which made his clear ‘get in here’ that Thursday morning oh so weird.

I dropped my satchel at my desk and wandered into his.

“Close the door,” he said, not looking up.

“Uh…” I said slowly, closing the door behind me.

“It’s bad, Rae,” Duncan said, wincing in apology. “Really bad.”

Oh, frak. This again. I’d hoped if I ignored it then it would go away. No such luck, obviously.

I sighed and my hands wrung for the umpteenth time that week. “Okay. But, like the Rohirrim are late bad, or the TARDIS blew up bad?”

He grimaced in a weird combination of humour and confusion. “Um… I’m not sure. Where does,” he looked at the paper in front of him, “‘Possible ties to criminal organisations, consider your employee in danger’ fall on that scale?”

I felt the blood drain from my face.

“Sit, Raegan.”

“Oh.” I fell more than sat in the chair in front of my boss’ desk. “That’s more like Death Star is aimed at your house bad…” I looked up at him. “Does it really say I’m in danger?”

Duncan nodded. “I’m afraid so. Between potential retribution and media frenzy… They’ve suggested I get you some personal security.”

I frowned. “Personal security like ‘dark shades and an earpiece’ personal security?”

“Yeah. Something like that. The firm Mr Olafson uses is generally pretty discrete.”

I gave him a disbelieving look. “Discrete? You can pick those dudes out a mile away.”

And I had. On numerous occasions. I couldn’t remember a staff Christmas party where one of those suited goons hadn’t been patrolling all serious and deadly looking. None of my ‘Men in Black’ jokes had ever gone down well with the big one in particular.

Duncan failed to hide his smirk. “Mr Olafson likes the…image of security.”

“I’ll say,” I muttered. “And, I’m getting one whether I like it or not. Aren’t I?”

He nodded again. “Yep. ‘Fraid so.”

I sighed. “Well, can’t we just chuck mine in some cargo shorts and a fandom shirt and say he’s an intern?”

Duncan snorted. “I’ll see what I can do. But you know what the big guy’s like.”

I nodded. I did know what the big guy was like. I’d worked for Olafson International for the three years, before I’d even finished university. Duncan was the uncle of my good friend Mel. So, when a position came up in the bowels of their IT Department and he knew I was perfect for it, he fought to get me the position.

Olafson International was by and large your basic multi-national and, I’ll be honest, I didn’t understand more than half the pies they had their fingers in. There were legal sectors and accounting sectors, real estate was bought and sold, information was traded, there were lavish parties, and my salary was good. So, I’d dealt with system maintenance, I’d done the ‘have you tried turning if off and on again?’ spiel about ten million times already, and I’d worked on updating their secure networking.

What I hadn’t bet on was stumbling across a shady-looking money trail and a suggestion of human trafficking or something equally as glamorous. Which was why I was in the pickle I was now in. Because, I’d taken it to Duncan, who’d taken it to Mr Olafson, who’d taken it to the authorities, and somehow it had been leaked.

As far as we knew, we were the only three in the company who knew it was me who’d found it. But you’d