Brandon Prince
Security is insane. I have never seen anything like this. They have MRIs, and they scan each person's belongings. I'm guessing many of the goons used to work for armies, intelligence agencies, and private contract firms. A visitor's badge clings to my suit jacket, noting every single one of my footsteps. It is scary how much security there is at a single micro-winery.
I learn the difference between a micro-winery and winery overnight. A winery has the typical works—a vineyard of grapes, wine barrels, and equipment. A micro-winery doesn't have a vineyard. Instead, they source grapes from local vineyards. Or in this case, they actually ship grapes from vineyards all of the world. Capello Wine Company's micro-winery loves to ship grapes from Italy to San Francisco. Overnight shipping costs must be steep; FedEx must be earning lots of money.
Instead of Kalypso Queen waiting for me in the labs, a tired man in his late thirties sleeps over the counter. I gently touch him at the shoulder and let him wake up.
"Are you Mekal Price?" he yawns, his words muffling.
"Yes. I'm here for the test."
"Good." He rubs his eyes. "I'm James Worth. Your test for today is to determine the status of"—he taps on the corked test tube—"this vial. You check from the simplest things like pH value to..."
Then he sighs and falls asleep.
"Hello?" I poke him again.
This time he doesn't wake up. I check his airways. Good, still breathing.
I grasp the vial, pulling it out of its holder. A simple vial. Something to test. Good thing I have a professional vintner in my ear. "Hey, guys. Want to tell me what I'm supposed to do?"
"pH test is easy," says Brigham, over the comms. "You need one of those little strips. It should be somewhere in the lab."
I press on the button camera. "Can you see?"
"We see," says the vintner. D'Arcy is getting paid for this "consulting" session. She takes a moment and orders, "I need you to do a three hundred and sixty degrees turn for me."
"I'm all ears," I whisper. I spin slowly.
"Stop!" D'Arcy laughs. "Oh, wow. They have a machine? This is a stupid test. All you have to do is empty the vial in its container, and it will analyze the contents immediately."
Feeling very stupid, I ask, "Which machine?"
"It is called—"
Softly, I hiss, "I don't need to know the name. Just which one it is."
I'm seriously unprepared for this.
***
Holding my breath, I hand the report to James Worth. He puts on his glasses. Absentmindedly, he scratches at his chestnut mustache while he reads.
He smiles at me. "Good! You passed. I'll tell Lindsay."
"Why are you tired?" I inquire.
"Kalypso Queen has me taking over Manuel's work pile." He adds, "Manuel is—was—the vintner you're replacing. He went missing two weeks ago. Poor man, but Kalypso Queen is a good businesswoman. She doesn't stop for anyone."
I lower my voice. "Why is everyone so wary of Kalypso Queen?"
He stays silent, for a brief moment. Then his eyes flicker around, as if expecting Kalypso Queen to appear out of nowhere like a ghost from a horror movie. "Kalypso Queen has been with Capello Wine Company for years. Everyone knows she is vying for her father's job as CEO. She is twenty-three years old—will twenty-four by the end of March. Do you know who is Grayson Matthews?"
I shake my head.
"Grayson Matthews is the previous Vice President of this wine company. He may be the VP, but Kalypso was already running it from her teens."
I blink. "But isn't this a wine company? Illegal for anyone under twenty-one to run?"
"Oh, the company will get in a lot of trouble if they hired Kalypso Queen when she was only fifteen years old." The head vintner chuckles. "They might get fined and the reputation will be shattered completely. So the Capello family allowed her to control the company from the backstage. Few people knows about this, but wine is in her blood. It is in her family for hundreds of years. All the way back in Italy."
"But why so scared of just one girl?"
He gives me a long look. "She isn't 'just one girl.' She is more than that."
Then he whistles along as he lets himself out of the lab.
"So she can be a complete bitch and still have loyalty of her employees?" Brigham whistles too, the sound creating feedback on the comms.
I hiss. "Brigham!"
"Sorry! I'll keep my voice down."
***
Back at the apartment, the burner phone rings. I pick it up immediately. It can only mean my coworkers back at the office. We determined that it is too risky to have a meeting place without tipping off any of the goons who might be following me.
They ran a background check and a credit check, harassed my "ex-girlfriend" from Montana, dug up all of Mekal Price's financial statements, and went through my former "neighbors" back in Wisconsin. It is insane, and I can't fathom why the wine company has so much security measures.
I don't think the Army did the same thing.
I bet they are doing the same to Tami.
"Hello? This is Mekal Price," I say, using my fake name. Mekal Price, Mekal Price, Mekal Price. Brandon Prince is no more.
"PIs are searching through everything," says Gabi, her cool voice strangely welcoming. "But our cover story will be able to hold up. Brigham covered all bases. They are doing the same to Tami. Anything new to report in?"
"Kalypso Queen remains the only suspect."
"What proof?"
"People are scared of her, but I have met a few who are willing to do whatever it takes to protect her," I answer, knowing it isn't much. "She wants her father's job, but you already have whatever James Worth said on record."
"Keep looking."
"Thanks, Gabi." I turn off the burner phone and quickly fall asleep in the dusty bed that isn't mine. I wish I could be home right now. My real home, not here.
***
The next morning, I wake up bright and early. I keep myself clean shaven, put on my best suit with a gray vest, and drive to the micro-winery in a tiny car. Security takes my picture and gives me my own badge. A real badge. It reads with basic information—my name, my date of birth, and my job title.
Helen meets me up on the fourth floor and gives me a tour. The top floor is for executives—which includes Kalypso Queen in the corner office. I have one fairly close to her, only two doors away. It isn't a corner office, but it is my own.
Well, it is actually Mekal's. But for a moment, I can pretend.
"Do you like it?" asks Helen.
Eagerly, I examine every bare inch of the wall. The windows are covered with thick curtains, but when I push them aside, the sun blasts me with sunlight. I can see the parking lot below. I run my index finger over the glass desk.
"It probably isn't as good as the office you had in Italy, but..."
"It is good." I add, "It is perfect."
I walk out with Helen. The executives' offices surrounds the many cubicles of journalists who are working around the clock to update the wine company's magazine. Some of them are chattering loudly, gathered around someone's cubicle. A few take curious looks at me, but they don't examine me like a camera trying to memorize every single pixel of me.
Helen shows me around the lower floors. Some wine barrel and tanks are located on the third floor, their large presence overwhelming. On the second floor, the familiar labs welcome it. It smells like perfume with a light touch of rose. It isn't overwhelming, thankfully. The first floors are mostly for everything else. The cafeteria is located in the corner, and the vending machine glows dimly in the hallways. Security guards take patrols at random intervals, and I take careful note.
Then Helen's cell phone rings.
"Hello," she immediately answers, already walking to the elevators. "Miss Queen. Yes, your sister arrived at SFO in the early morning. I put her in a local hotel, because she complained of how tired she was. Her luggage arrived at your estate this morning. You are on the way? Oh, of course. I'll have the daily financial report on your desk. Green tea? Got it."
She ends her call and dials someone else's number.
With the highest seriousness possible, Helen says, "Prepare for her arrival. She is going to be here by eight-thirty sharp." Then Helen shoves iPhone into her purse.
I quickly follow Helen. "What is going on?"
"Kalypso Queen is what's going on," Helen huffs, furiously pushing the button. "She is too early today. She should be here at nine! Not eight-thirty. She sound upset over the phone."
"What should I do?"
"Act busy. Never stare too long at her. If you ever are in the same room with her, don't make small talk. She hates wasting time. If she wants something and demands it from you, you give it to her right away. Without question, without hesitation. You got it?"
"Am I an assistant?"
Helen thinks for a moment. "You are a vintner. But like the previous vintner, you will work closely with her. You will be an unofficial third assistant. Got it?"
"Yes."
The elevator dings, and the doors open. The fourth floor—the executive floor—is changing before my very eyes. The journalists are quickly moving around. Someone is changing their hairstyle. I see one man taking off his t-shirt right in the middle of the chaos to change into a blue-collared shirt.
"Why is she here at eight-thirty?" shrieks one woman, panicking. She shoves a large blue folder into Helen's arms. "This is the daily financial papers. I barely managed to finish them. If she wants me to be fired, tell her that I was having very painful ulcers."
Bewildered, I watch her flee. "Why is...?"
"She's on first floor!"
Somehow, everyone moves even faster. Sprints turns into full-on runs. I see Tami changing her shoes at her desk, wincing as her feet goes in. She stands up and hobbles into Kalypso's office, putting an elaborate tea cup on her desk.
"In the elevator!"
The chaos slowly dies down, and suddenly, there is a sharp silence. My mouth falls open as everyone is dutifully doing last minute changes and fixes.
The elevator dings open.
And at last, I finally see the Kalypso Queen everyone has been talking about.