Chapter 3: The First Test

Let me think, when did I become Preston’s lackey? I try to remember the exact day, but it all blurs together—the smell of burnt coffee, the hum of fluorescent lights, the low-level buzz of anxiety in the office. Sometimes, I think my life started the day I met him and ended right after.

It must have been half a year ago. Back then, I was just a low-level employee at a branch office. Preston came to inspect. As soon as he walked in, all the higher-ups surrounded him like satellites around a planet, pouring coffee and water, falling over themselves to please him. Preston pretended to be approachable, asking a few random questions. Everyone in the office stood ramrod straight—except for me, still slouched in my chair, daydreaming. The office AC rattled overhead, and the coffee tasted like burnt rubber. I was half-asleep, doodling in my planner.

Preston walked over and stared at me without saying a word. His gaze was cold, assessing, like he was weighing me on a scale I couldn’t see.

The branch manager slapped me on the head, snapping me out of it. “This is Mr. Hawthorne! Aren’t you going to stand up and greet him?” His voice was trembling, half fear, half fury. My ears rang from the slap, but I stood up, trying to look less like a deer caught in headlights.

I got up, dazed, and nodded at Preston. I’m not the type to grovel, or rather, I despise it. My cheeks burned, but I stared back. For a second, I thought I saw amusement flicker in Preston’s eyes.

Preston pushed up his glasses and said to the branch manager, “This young man’s good. Have him report to headquarters tomorrow.” His voice was smooth as whiskey, but there was something hard beneath it.

Maybe it was just my imagination, but I felt a pure malice in Preston’s gaze. It was like he’d spotted a new toy on the shelf and couldn’t wait to see how it worked—or how fast it’d break.

I never believed in free lunches. Instinctively, I didn’t want to get close to this rich kid, but I needed money badly. My sister had leukemia, and I’d spent all my savings on her treatment. I even sold the old house our parents left us. The hospital’s medicine was getting worse and worse, and my sister was down to barely sixty pounds. The two of us only had each other. I couldn’t just watch her suffer. I’d have worked three jobs at a Waffle House if it meant keeping her alive another month.

The next day, I put on a suit and reported in. Preston eagerly dragged me to the garage and asked, “Can you drive?” The garage smelled like new tires and polish—rows of gleaming Teslas, Mercedes, a cherry-red Mustang. For a second, I felt out of place, like a stray cat in a Rolls-Royce showroom.

“Yes.” I wasn’t confident. I’d had my license for a while, but only driven a few times. My hands were sweating just looking at the cars.

“Good. Drive me to Magnolia Estates.”

The Tesla’s steering wheel made me dizzy, but Preston was patient, introducing all the buttons and letting me start slowly. I hit the brake by mistake a few times, but he didn’t complain. He wore an excited expression I couldn’t understand. Along the way, people kept taking pictures of the car. At a red light, some college girls even knocked on the window, flirting and asking for a ride. Preston said, “What do you think? If you like any of them, let them in.”

My face flushed—not from lust, but from nerves. If I scratched this car, I couldn’t pay for it if I sold myself a hundred times. I kept my hands at ten and two, my knuckles white. The girls giggled and waved, but I barely looked their way.

At the intersection in front of Magnolia Estates, while waiting at a red light, a pregnant woman slowly crossed the street. At that moment, Preston leaned close to my ear and said, “See that pregnant woman?”

“Mm.” I swallowed, my heart thudding in my chest. I thought maybe he wanted to do some charity stunt, but his eyes were too bright, too eager.

“Floor it and run her over.” Preston urged. His voice was low, urgent, a dare and a command all at once.

What kind of sick joke is that? Cold sweat broke out on my back, my hands trembling on the wheel. The world narrowed down to the glow of the dashboard and the woman’s slow, careful steps.

“Do it! Run her over!” Preston’s voice grew louder.

“Boss, that’ll kill her.” I gritted my teeth. My foot hovered over the brake, but I couldn’t move.

“I’ll give you a million. I’ll hire you the best lawyer—at most you’ll do two years in jail. A million! You’d have to work five hundred years at your old job for that, right?” His tone was half-joking, but his eyes were dead serious.

“Boss, she’s pregnant...” My voice cracked. I thought of my sister, of my mom, of every woman who’d ever smiled at me.

“Two million, damn it! Run her over!” The pregnant woman was already right in front of the car. Preston was getting impatient, slapping me on the head. Each slap felt like a countdown.

At that moment, a thousand images flashed through my mind—my sister lying in her hospital bed, the empty fridge in our rented apartment, the manager cursing me out. My hands slipped on the wheel, the car lurched an inch before I slammed the brake. My brain screamed at me to move, to freeze, to do anything but what he asked. The pregnant woman turned and looked at us, her eyes wide with panic, hands pressed to her belly.

In the end, I didn’t do it. I slumped in the seat, gasping for air, as if all the strength had drained out of me. The light turned green, but my vision tunneled and I thought I might faint.

Preston slapped me on the head again, then sat back in the rear seat. I glanced at the rearview mirror—his expression was terrifyingly sinister. I felt like I’d failed some test, but I didn’t care. I’d failed as a human being if I’d gone through with it.

But after a minute, he was calm again and said, “Green light. Let’s go.” His voice was flat, like nothing had happened. I pressed the accelerator, heart pounding, and drove on in silence.