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One who wears baggy clothes, has dyed her hair black, put in brown contact lenses, and is wearing black-framed glasses that hide most of my face. They’re my crutch, the glasses. Since I had them specifically made with thick lenses, I can’t make eye contact and no one can make eye contact with me.
I’m safe.
I hold on to that knowledge as I swipe my card into at entrance of my new workplace.
Weaver & Shaw.
It’s one of the most prestigious law firms, not only nationally, but also internationally. The most fascinating part about it is that the two founding partners, Nathaniel Weaver and Kingsley Shaw, have built their reputation in a matter of years.
Where I come from, it takes decades to have any type of reputation—especially one that people talk about.
That doesn’t seem to be the case at this law firm.
When I did my research, I found that Weaver & Shaw is one of the most sought-after law firms in their field. Not only due to its two ruthless founding partners, but also due to how efficient the rest of its partners and associate lawyers are.
Weaver & Shaw is a fast-paced firm, from the way they accept cases, to how they process them, and even the way they work paralegals.
Everything around me buzzes with energy. Almost everyone has a phone to their ear and something else in their hands—briefcases, case files, coffee.
I’m only equipped with my laptop bag, the strap glued to my chest. It’s the only thing I need in order to navigate in a place full of people, noise, and eye contact.
Logically, I should’ve chosen a smaller firm or one of W&S’s branches in another state—or country, but I had my reasons.
One. I didn’t want to leave New York City. The best place to hide from someone? Right under their nose.
Two. A smaller firm doesn’t have well-equipped IT departments, and I need that for my disappearance plans.
Those two reasons combined are why I chose to woo W&S. And it did take a lot of wooing to their HR department during the interview process.
My résumé is genius level, and it’s not a lie. I did skip grades and attend computer engineering classes when I was young. I may be twenty, but I have valuable skills and have completed an internship at a huge company that shall not be named.
I did mention it in the résumé, though. Because that’s where I stole my current name from.
Jane Summers.
She was an intern at that huge company that shall not be named but decided to take a break from college and travel around the world.
I figured that out from a random conversation I heard in the bathroom and built my identity around hers. I had to wait until she left, then I kind of borrowed her name.
Sorry, Jane. I promise to help you with your studies as soon as you get back.
Anyway, W&S’s HR board wasn’t really convinced, because of my age, so they decided to put me on a month’s trial to see how I’ll do.
I’m going to prove that age is just a number.
It’s one of the few things I believe in from where I came.
After surviving a crowded trip in the elevator, in which I had to fix my glasses a few dozen times and touch my chest a hundred more, I finally arrive at the IT department on the twentieth floor.
I release a long exhale at the sweet sound of silence. There’s no fast-paced rhythm and no shuffling of feet.
And definitely no eye contact.
There’s just a clean office with marble flooring and blinding natural light coming from the open window at the end of the hall.
My gaze shifts to it and my chaotic brain revs to life like an old engine. My fingers shake on the strap of my bag and my short nails dig into my palms. Why the hell is that window open? Don’t they know how risky it is?
“You must be Jane.”
