Chapter 5: The Monster

  Art's mind buzzed. He stared at Penny in shock.

  "What do you mean, she doesn't exist? We went to high school together. We spent the whole day together yesterday. I don't know what you're talking about."

  Penny adjusted her half-rimmed glasses with unflappable calm. "Yes, you did attend high school with a female student. You went on a date with her yesterday, checked into a hotel, and perhaps shared a bed. However, *who* that woman actually is remains entirely uncertain."

  "Every piece of data I've pulled on 'Clara Sterling' is fabricated. The parents listed on her registry exist, but I cross-referenced their medical and adoption records. They never had a daughter."

  She swiped the tablet to the middle school section. "She supposedly won these academic competitions, but her name isn't on any of the rosters. One of the regional penmanship contests she 'won' was discontinued three years prior to the listed date. I just contacted the school administrator. Clara Sterling is not in their alumni database."

  "Every record prior to high school falls apart under basic scrutiny."

  "Her three years in high school alongside you are the only verifiable span of her existence. Your university's Biosynthesis department has her enrolled, but over the past three years, no professors or students recall interacting with her. No one knows her face, where she lives, or how she sustains herself."

  "She only ever appeared around you. To the rest of the world, she's a ghost."

  Art frowned deeply, looking at the student rosters and call logs Penny handed him.

  "If her files are fake, how did she become my classmate? High school, then college?"

  Penny adjusted her glasses again, her tone analytical.

  "Clearly, a significant organization is pulling the strings. In my assessment, this person and the faction behind her have been targeting you."

  "A woman with a fabricated identity and a phantom past is placed in your exact high school classes, then follows you to the same university? That is not a coincidence. With a normal girl, you might chalk it up to a secret crush. But your parents were top-clearance government researchers, and Clara is an engineered phantom. When you stack the anomalies, the probability of coincidence drops to zero."

  Penny pushed up her glasses with a sliver of confidence.

  "Yesterday, you took her on a date and checked into a hotel. This morning, you leave alone and immediately ask for a background check. I assume something highly unusual occurred last night to trigger your suspicion."

  "My conclusion is that this woman is extremely dangerous. She likely knows your true lineage and has been monitoring you for a specific purpose. We cannot rule out foreign espionage. I strongly advise maintaining absolute distance until we uncover her origins. You are no longer just a college student; you are a billionaire. Anyone approaching you must be thoroughly vetted."

  Art stared at his new secretary, absolutely dumbfounded.

  His initial superficial scrutiny morphed into genuine awe and respect. *Whoever said big breasts mean no brains was a moron.* If he had hired the S-curve Penny earlier instead of the M-hairline Robert, he might have uncovered Clara's anomalies before almost becoming monster chow last night!

  Art took a deep breath and nodded. "You did excellent work. I hope you maintain this standard. Name your salary. You know how much money I have—I don't care about the cost. You'll get the best compensation possible."

  She was incredibly competent. A worthy investment.

  However, Art felt he needed to establish some boundaries as a boss. He couldn't let his secretary completely dominate the dynamic.

  He slid her resume back across the table, tapping the glaringly bolded 'Measurements' section.

  "With your level of competence, there's no need to emphasize things like this. I'm not that kind of guy. A woman should respect herself. I hired you for your brain, not your body."

  From the moment she walked in, Penny had been the picture of unflappable poise, practically overwhelming Art with her intense corporate-predator aura. She looked like a relentless career woman dealing with a useless trust-fund kid.

  But the moment her eyes landed on that section of the resume, her flawless facade shattered.

  Her face cycled from pale to a livid, mottled red. Her breathing hitched, and she stared at the paper as if it had personally offended her ancestors. Her teeth ground together audibly.

  "That old bastard!" she hissed, the words forced out through a clenched jaw.

  Art’s heart skipped a beat, cold sweat prickling his back. PTSD from last night flared up—he half-expected this beautiful woman to suddenly sprout tentacles and transform into a monster right in front of him.

  Fortunately, his fears were unfounded.

  Penny took several deep, ragged breaths to compose herself. Each inhalation tested the absolute tensile limits of the white button-down shirt currently sealing away her terrifying proportions.

  "I did not put that on there," she said rigidly. "I apologize for the outburst. Please rest assured, I will strictly perform my *professional duties*."

  She put heavy emphasis on the last two words.

  Clearly, his new secretary was a deeply serious person. Art felt a twinge of shame for letting those ridiculous numbers cloud his judgment. *Takes a grindset king to know a grind-lord,* he thought. Someone who worked that hard to achieve so much would never let her ideals be tainted by cheap shortcuts. He was the one whose ideals had been tainted by his "infinite money glitch."

  If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  ---

  Over the next few hours, Penny efficiently reorganized his life.

  "I recommend replacing your driver," she stated. "Before arriving, I bribed him to acquire your itinerary from yesterday. A man like that cannot be trusted. Until we procure suitable security personnel, I will act as your chauffeur. Do not worry; I hold a Class-A CDL. I can operate heavy transit vehicles if necessary."

  Art blinked. "...Right. You just handle the small stuff."

  "Please clarify something for me," she continued. "Are you planning to reside in the newly purchased villa? The one directly across from the property you bought for Miss Sterling?"

  "...Yes? Why?"

  "First, your primary residence must remain strictly confidential. The fewer people who know, the better. You absolutely cannot live next to an unidentified operative. Second, if you intend to keep mistresses, it is best to house them far from your primary residence to avoid unnecessary complications."

  Art felt his repository of weird knowledge expanding.

  Penny didn't miss a beat. "I suggest abandoning those properties. I will find you a superior, secure location. Since high-end renovations take time, I have already booked you into a top-tier five-star hotel."

  ---

  After a dizzying lunch at a high-end French restaurant, Art found himself ushered into a sprawling Presidential Suite.

  Penny set up camp a short distance away. Her slender fingers flew across her laptop keyboard while she simultaneously jotted notes on her tablet. Her phone rang constantly. She was diving deeper into Clara’s background while aggressively untangling the massive financial web of Art's inheritance.

  Art watched her work with a sense of vertigo. At first, she asked for his input, but after a string of "whatever you think," "it's fine," and "just handle it," she stopped asking.

  He was left completely idle. He lay on the plush sofa, mindlessly twirling his new smartphone, comparing his old $80 brick to this $8,000 piece of tech.

  So this was the life of the ultra-rich? He hadn't even gotten used to having money, and he was already getting bored.

  But the horror of the previous night, and the bizarre dreams that followed, clung to his mind like a shadow. He had a sinking feeling. The world had just revealed a terrifying, hidden layer, and he was going to be forced to face it.

  Sure enough, reality came knocking with news that made his blood run cold.

  "Boss, two urgent matters require your attention," Penny said, striding over with quick, sharp steps. "First, the senior agent from the special government bureau will be arriving shortly to hand over your parents' effects. I've verified his credentials. He is legitimate."

  Art nodded. Robert had warned him about that.

  "Second..." Penny's expression grew deeply troubled. "I just intercepted a police scanner report. A taxi driver's body was found on the outskirts of the city. Aside from the head, only minced flesh and bone fragments remain. It looks like he was savaged by a wild animal. The taxi's license plate perfectly matches the vehicle Clara Sterling entered when she left your hotel at 3:00 AM."

  Art, who had been lounging lazily, froze. A cold sweat erupted across his skin.

  "What did you say? Just a head and bone fragments?"

  "Yes. It's highly anomalous." Penny nodded, handing him her tablet to show a crime scene photo.

  The interior of the cab was a slaughterhouse. Blood painted the ceiling, the windows, the steering wheel, and the seats in abstract, horrific arcs. A middle-aged man's severed head rested entirely alone on the driver's seat. The face was frozen in a mask of absolute, mind-shattering terror, eyes bulging so far out they looked ready to burst.

  Scattered throughout the rest of the cab were bits of torn meat and chewed-up bone shards.

  Art's heart hammered against his ribs. Looking at the photo, he could almost feel the phantom sensation of those teeth tearing into his own flesh.

  Last night wasn't a hallucination.

  Clara Sterling really was a man-eating abomination!

  "Where is Clara? Did the cops get her?" Art demanded, his voice cracking. He still held some naive hope in law enforcement. Even if they couldn't protect everyone, they had guns. That had to count for something against a monster.

  Penny gave him a quizzical look. She didn't understand why he was so certain Clara was the killer. To her, the carnage looked like a bear or cougar attack. But she didn't pry. A good secretary answers questions and solves problems; she doesn't interrogate her boss.

  "I have exhausted every avenue to track her. The last person to see her is dead. She has effectively vanished. Even the police have no leads."

  Vanished?

  How could she just vanish?!

  Art remembered the burning, ravenous hunger in Clara's eyes last night. The sheer, maniacal desperation to consume him. And her blinding hatred for his parents...

  The thought of a monster actively hunting him, currently roaming completely off the grid, sent an icy spike of terror down his spine. She could appear behind him anywhere, at any time, and bite his head off!

  Furthermore, Clara claimed his parents had turned her into that thing. If his parents really were mad scientists creating biological horrors, was Clara the only one? What if there was an entire army of freaks out there waiting to rip him apart for revenge?

  He was completely, utterly screwed!

  *Fuck this! I can't live like this!*

  "Penny, I need bodyguards. Lots of them," Art started pacing frantically. "And you said money can buy anything, right? Get me weapons. Heavy ordnance. I'm talking TNT, RPGs, a Barrett .50 Caliber sniper rifle—the bigger the boom, the better!"

  "Forget the mansion. Can you build me a military bunker? A reinforced bomb shelter will do in a pinch! How much would it cost to hire a private army? Do you know any international mercenaries? Get me those absolute psychos from the Middle East or Africa—the ones with no rules!"

  *Oh, you're a monster? You eat people? Let's see you eat a high-explosive anti-tank round.* Art's panic was rapidly sublimating into a severe case of 'insufficient firepower paranoia'. He was ready to solve his biological horror problem with cruise missiles.

  Penny stood completely frozen.

  *What the hell is happening? Has my boss lost his mind?* Great. She thought she’d landed a golden goose of a client, but it turned out he was experiencing episodic psychosis.

  "Don't just stand there!" Art said, gearing up for a motivational speech. "I know it sounds difficult, but challenges are just opportunities! Doing the impossible is how you prove your value—"

  *Ring! Ring!* The suite's intercom blared.

  "Hello... Yes, this is Mr. Vance's secretary... Understood. Please wait a moment."

  Penny hung up and walked over to Art, her face a mask of careful neutrality.

  "The special agent from the government is at the door. Boss, please calm down. We can discuss your... arms procurement... later."

  As a solid knock echoed from the suite's front door, Penny hesitated, looking back at Art with genuine concern.

  "Boss, if you have prescribed psychiatric medication, I strongly suggest you take it now. The man outside represents the federal government. It would be highly detrimental if you had an... episode... in front of him."

  Art was utterly speechless.

  He was just trying to secure his right to live with a little suppressive fire, and now his secretary thought he was schizophrenic.

  Penny gave him a full minute to collect himself. Only when she was certain Art wasn't going to start screaming about bazookas and monsters did she finally unlatch and open the door.