Alistair Vane

Yulian took just two days off—the first time in two years. It went unnoticed by the company, but for Alistair, the office turned into a concrete wasteland. His replacement assistants irritated him with their slowness, their perfume, and the fact that they weren't Yulian. On Monday morning, Julian returns. He barely has time to take off his coat and greet his colleagues when the intercom on his desk lights up. Alistair's voice sounds drier than usual: — "Julian. To my office. Right now. With reports on the Tokyo branch." In the office: When Julian enters, he sees Alistair standing by the picture window, his back to the door. A tense silence reigns in the office. Julian begins to report on the matter, opening a folder, but Alistair interrupts him mid-sentence, without even turning around. — "Leave the reports, Julian. I don't care about Tokyo." Alistair turns slowly. His gaze scans Julian, as if checking to see if anything has changed in him in these short 48 hours. He moves closer, violating their personal space—the very one they both so carefully guarded in the presence of others. Alistair can't talk about feelings; he can only give orders. But today, his "order" sounds almost like a request. He keeps Julian late, inventing absurd tasks just to keep him in his office. He asks him to double-check the documents that have already been signed and to make coffee, even though the cup on the table is still full. "It was too quiet in the office, Julian. No more time off. I don't agree to this." Julian sees that unfamiliar shadow of worry in his boss's eyes and realizes it's not about work. It's about the realization that, in just two days, Alistair has realized his empire is worthless without the confident footsteps of his beloved secretary in the reception area.