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THE ASSISTANT
Fern led the contestants from the hedge maze and back toward the house, still confused by the near disaster with the Tasers. Cat had assured Fern that the custom-made Tasers were set at a low voltage and that clearly hadn’t been the case. Both Samuel and Ned had gone down hard but Samuel got it worse. Both prongs had struck Samuel squarely in the back, gripping into his skin and completely immobilizing him. Fern was worried that they were going to have to call an ambulance, but thankfully after a few minutes he was able to get up.
“Hey,” came an angry voice from behind. Samuel. Fern kept walking, pretending she hadn’t heard him. She understood his confusion, his frustration, but she had no answers. She had so much to do before tomorrow’s challenge.
“Wait up,” he called. “Hold on a second,” he said, blocking her path and causing Fern to stop short. “What the hell was that?” he asked, his voice laced with barely contained anger. “You said the Tasers were set at a low level. You said it was safe. I’m healthy, my body could handle being shocked. But what would have happened if the senator was the one to be tased? He’s seventy years old. The shock could have stopped his heart!” Samuel was shouting now.
Fern looked around. The camera operators and the drones were gone, but she knew there were cameras hidden throughout the estate. The show needed drama, but not when it was directed toward her.
“But you’re fine, right?” Fern asked, steadying her voice. “Ned is fine and so is the senator. Everyone is fine. The Tasers were completely safe.”
Samuel didn’t move, not appeased.
“Come on,” Fern said, “it’s after two, why don’t we get back to the house so everyone can get some sleep?”
“Does this look like they were safe?” Samuel asked, turning his back to her and pulling up his shirt.
Fern winced at the welts. Never admit you’re wrong, that’s what Cat always said.
Fern gave Samuel a sympathetic smile. “Would you like some ice? Some Tylenol? And it’s your turn to go into The Vault.”
“I’m not going into The Vault,” Samuel said with a disgusted snort. “I’m going to bed.” He shot a murderous glare at Fern and limped away.
Fern couldn’t really blame him and wondered if the settings on the Tasers were an oversight or if it was a manufacturing error. Or maybe they were purposely sabotaged. It made Fern wonder what other surprises One Lucky Winner had for them all.
The trek to the villa and up the grand staircase was made in stony silence. Fern waited until the bedroom door shut before rushing down the steps toward the beating heart of the estate.
Fern made her way through the great room, past the white room and the theater room. Using her key card, Fern let herself into Cat’s office. During the day, it was spacious, light, and airy, with large windows and white marble floors. Now it was dark and shadow filled, and much too quiet. Fern hurriedly found the light switch. Her boss’s desk was situated in the center of the room. It was a work of art in and of itself, with white marble hewn into a modern triangle that defied gravity. Atop it was a laptop and a landline telephone. Fern looked in the corners of the room for the telltale red light of a camera. There were none.
Fern knew that Cat didn’t have cameras in her office; too many private conversations went on in here. But still, she was paranoid. Fern had special permission to enter Cat’s office but now she felt like a criminal. She was a criminal.
Fern pulled out the buttery-soft Italian leather desk chair and gingerly sat down. This was what it would be like to have an office of her own, not relegated to a small desk in the corridor. Someday, she told herself.
She had held it together all night but just barely. The reality of what she had done came crashing over her like a wave. She had hijacked One Lucky Winner by locking her boss in the wine cellar. Would she be warm enough? The temperature of the wine cellar was consistent in order to keep the wine at the ideal temperature, so it wouldn’t go below fifty-five degrees. That was cold. Could people get hypothermia at fifty-five degrees? She didn’t know.
Her chest constricted and she couldn’t catch her breath. Cat was going to kill her, if she managed to make it out of the cellar alive. Fern lowered her head between her knees, trying to keep from hyperventilating. She was going to get fired and then hauled off to prison. Unless, Fern thought, One Lucky Winner was a runaway success.
She righted herself and pulled out her phone. Her stomach flipped with excitement. Close to a million people had watched the first episode on YouTube. She flipped to X, then Instagram, then TikTok. #oneluckywinner was the top-trending hashtag on all three platforms.
Remarkable, since the show hadn’t started until the middle of the night. She prayed that the numbers would keep growing.
No matter how successful the show was, Fern was pretty sure her life was over. Fern gave a rueful laugh. The past ten years she had been Cat’s prisoner—not in the literal sense, but a prisoner, nonetheless. How many days had Fern gone without eating or drinking because Cat had to have something done right then and there? How many sleepless nights had she spent hunting down Cat’s latest obsessions, such as the macarons she’d had the last time she was in Paris but couldn’t remember the name of the patisserie, or the exclusive Trinket fall makeup line that was impossible to get?
One wall of the office consisted of glass windows that looked out on the lake, now black as ink in the predawn dark. Another wall held a bank of a dozen screens. Each monitored a different location on the estate. The library, the corridors, kitchen, the courtyard, grand hallway, the pool, the atrium, and the wine cellar. Fern could sit in here and keep an eye on all aspects of the game.
She also had the same access to the video cameras from her phone as well as the power to turn them off if need be. It wasn’t lost upon Fern that the challenges were streamed live and that anything could happen, but Cat made it clear to shut the feed down if it was completely unavoidable—which Fern took to mean never.
She flipped on the monitor that showed the inside of the wine cellar. Cat was pacing, hands clenched, face twisted in anger.
Fern turned on the intercom. “Cat,” she began tentatively. Cat froze, her back to the camera. “The show is a hit. We already have a million views. And you should see how many commercial spots we’ve sold. It’s going really well.”
Cat slowly turned, her eyes pinned on the camera’s lens. Even though Fern knew that Cat couldn’t really see her, she felt as if she were looking directly into her eyes. The blood curdled in her veins. Cat dragged an old wooden box right below the camera. She climbed atop it and stared into the lens. “Fern,” Cat began calmly. “Get me the fuck out of here.”
Fern almost faltered, almost made a beeline for the wine cellar. But no, Fern needed to make a decision and not look back. Cat could handle one or two days in the cellar, just long enough for Fern to convince her that One Lucky Winner was the newest phenomenon, all thanks to her. Fern would show Cat all the celebrities who had tweeted about the show and maybe, just maybe, she’d forgive her. It wasn’t likely.
“Soon,” Fern said through the intercom. “I will soon. I promise.” She then flipped off the camera, knowing that Cat was going to go ballistic. No one ever crossed Cat. Certainly not Fern. She fought the urge to open Cat’s laptop. It would be so easy. What Cat didn’t know was that Fern knew every single one of her passwords. She could access every email, every file, every voicemail. Cat’s entire life was on this laptop. Maybe Fern could use it to her advantage. Stay focused, Fern told herself. Stay professional. Do your job and everything will work out fine. She turned her attention to the other monitors, but everything looked quiet. The corridor that ran in front of the contestants’ room was still. She needed to figure out what to do about Ned Bennett. He couldn’t stay here, could not be the winner of ten million dollars. She had to find a way to get him off the show without tipping her hand.
Fern thought of the hours she spent writing out all the Super Clues and placing them inside the urns and all the time she spent stashing the Game Changers around the estate. It gave her an idea. It wouldn’t take long for the contestants to figure out that Ned was ruthless, that he was the one they needed to eliminate from the game. Fern would just help them along a little bit.
