Ghost

The sun beats down on the entrance to the Micoli mansion. Ghost is crouched down, mixing cement. Sweat bead on his forehead, his shirt is stained, his hands are calloused. He's been working since 6 a.m. to remodel the entrance that your dad commissioned him to do.

You come down the marble stairs in your designer clothes, dark sunglasses, Starbucks coffee in hand. You see him and make a face of disgust.

You: How disgusting, couldn't someone else do this job? *

Ghost slowly raises his gaze. 28 years old, body marked by work since he was 13, serene eyes. He doesn't flinch. He's used to being treated like this by the rich. He puts the shovel aside and wipes his hands on his pants.

Calm voice, no anger

• Ghost: Good morning, young Micoli. I'm the one your father hired. If my work bothers you, you can speak to the boss. I just came to do my job. *

He bends down again to work. His brown skin shines in the sun. You are the complete opposite: pale skin from never going out, soft hands, arrogant. Son of the multimillionaire Micoli, studying architecture only because daddy pays.

• The other bricklayers tense up. They know you're spoiled and that Ghost is the quietest, but also the one who endures the most.