Chapter 4: The Ghost of Sterling Innovations

The next morning, I arrived at work earlier than usual, my mind buzzing with Grant’s suggestion. I pulled up the Q3 projections, his advice echoing in my head: "adjusting for a higher volatility index in the Q4 projection."

It was a subtle tweak, but as I ran the numbers, the potential impact became clear. The worst-case scenario looked grimmer, yes, but it was also more realistic, more robust. It showed foresight.

I meticulously integrated the adjustment, cross-referencing my sources, and double-checking every formula. By the time Mr. Thompson arrived, looking as harried as ever, my revised analysis was ready.

"Ah, Gabriella, just the person," he grumbled, settling into his chair, already sifting through a stack of papers. "Did you manage to finalize those Q3 projections? I need them for the investor meeting this afternoon."

"Yes, Mr. Thompson," I said, handing him the printout. "I've completed the analysis, and I also took the liberty of running a supplementary projection for Q4, factoring in a higher volatility index based on current market trends."

He took the papers, his eyes still scanning for something else on his desk. "Supplementary... volatility index?" He mumbled, his brow furrowed. Then, his gaze finally dropped to the report in his hands. His eyes widened slightly as he skimmed the figures. He leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful expression replacing his usual agitation.

"This is… thorough, Ms. Alonzo," he said, tapping a finger on the adjusted Q4 numbers. "Very thorough. This worst-case scenario, while conservative, provides a much more comprehensive picture. It shows a proactive approach to risk assessment. Excellent initiative." He looked up, a rare, genuine smile gracing his lips. "This is precisely the kind of forward-thinking we need. Well done. This will be invaluable for the presentation."

A wave of quiet triumph washed over me. Grant’s seemingly off-hand advice had not only been spot-on, but it had also earned me a rare commendation from Mr. Thompson. It felt good. Really good. This was the kind of impact I wanted to make. But even as I basked in the small victory, the mystery of Grant only deepened.

Who was this man who casually dropped such insightful business advice while dressed like he was on vacation?

The image of Grant lingered in my mind throughout the rest of the workday. His intense gaze, the casual confidence, the way he’d known about Ms. Albright and his unexpected knowledge of market analysis. It was a curious mix, and it sparked my fresh graduate curiosity even further.

Back at my desk, I pretended to be engrossed in a report, but my fingers subtly navigated to the company intranet. I told myself it was for "research purposes," a necessary step in familiarizing myself with Sterling Innovations.

The employee directory was extensive, a veritable who's who of the corporate world. I started scrolling, my eyes scanning for "Grant." There were a few Grants, of course. Grant Chen in finance, Grant O'Malley in logistics... none of them seemed to fit the rugged, mysterious man from the archives.

I even tried a reverse search, hoping his face might pop up somewhere, but the system was too secure for that. My attempts at discreet snooping felt amateurish and futile.

After a few minutes of fruitless searching, I decided a more direct, if still subtle, approach was needed. I waited until my cubicle neighbor, Stella, a friendly woman in her late twenties who had been particularly helpful with my onboarding, took a quick coffee break. When she returned, mug in hand, I seized my chance.

"Hey, Stella," I started, trying to sound casual as I highlighted a meaningless paragraph on my screen. "Quick question. I was down in the archives a few days ago, trying to find those old reports, and I bumped into someone. A guy named Grant. He was really helpful. Do you know him? What department is he in?"

Stella took a sip of her coffee, her brow furrowing slightly. "Grant? Hmm. I don't think I know a Grant in our division. What did he look like?"

I gave her a brief description – the dark hair, the casual clothes, the gray eyes. As I spoke, her expression shifted from mild curiosity to something closer to surprise, maybe even a hint of recognition.

"Wait a minute," she said, leaning closer, her voice dropping conspiratorially. "Dark hair, intense gray eyes, a bit scruffy around the edges but in a good way, and always dressed down? You don't mean... no, it couldn't be." She paused, then a small, knowing smile played on her lips. "Did he, by any chance, have that 'I know everything and I'm amused by you' vibe?"

I laughed, a little too loudly. "Exactly! Is he some kind of IT genius or something? He seemed to know his way around."

Stella chuckled, shaking her head. "Oh, Gabriella. You just met the ghost of Sterling Innovations."

"The ghost?" I prompted, intrigued.

"Yeah, Grant Alexander Sterling," she whispered, as if the name itself held power. "He's... the owner. As in, the founder's grandson, the man who inherited this entire empire."

My jaw must have dropped. The owner? The brooding CEO I’d joked about with Stella? The man I’d pegged as a maintenance worker or an IT guy, was the man who owned the very building we were in? The man who signed my paychecks?

My mind reeled. His casual attire suddenly made sense – a man so secure in his power he didn't need to dress the part. His intense gaze, his knowing smile, his familiarity with Ms. Albright... it all clicked into place with a resounding thud.

"The... the owner?" I finally managed to stammer, my voice barely a whisper. "But he was just... in a t-shirt and jeans. And he didn't even tell me his last name!"

Stella nodded, a twinkle in her eye. "That's his M.O. He hates the pomp and circumstance. Prefers to go unnoticed, observe. Comes and goes as he pleases, often dressed like he's about to go hiking. He likes to see how people really operate when they don't know who he is. And he rarely introduces himself with his full name, probably to avoid the immediate groveling." She leaned back, observing my stunned face. "You must have made an impression if he actually stopped to talk to you. He usually just stalks around like a silent, brooding phantom."

A wave of mortification washed over me. I had just made small talk with the actual owner of Sterling Innovations, assuming he was some low-level employee. And I had been so confident, so eager to prove myself to him, without even realizing who he was. The thought sent a fresh blush creeping up my neck. Grant. The brooding CEO. And I had called him "Grant." Just Grant.

"So, the company owner is walking around in the archives, pretending to be an ordinary worker," I murmured, a mix of disbelief and a strange thrill swirling inside me.

"Yep," Stella confirmed, popping the 'p'. "Welcome to Sterling Innovations, Gabriella. Never a dull moment."

I spent the rest of the day in a daze, every task I performed now tinged with a new layer of awareness. The casual "Grant" echoing in my head. The firm handshake. The way his eyes had seemed to see right through me. It was all a lot to process.

My first week, and I'd already stumbled upon the company's biggest secret, or at least, the one the owner liked to keep.

***

To be continued...

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