The Transfer I

Charity yawned loudly and rubbed her weary eyes. The nightmare she had experienced kept her awake through the night, and she now found herself struggling to keep focus at work. The warmly lit office, gentle sounds of a ticking clock, and her comfy leather chair all seemed to invite Charity to fall into a deep sleep despite knowing she couldn’t. She stared vacantly at the document before her, confident she had read the same sentence twice.

“Long night?” Peter asked as he handed his daughter a steaming cup.

“Very,” Charity mumbled, graciously accepting her father’s gift. She breathed in the enticing aroma of the bitter coffee mixed with sweetened cream and gingerly took her first sip, sighing as the warm, brown liquid raced toward her empty stomach.

“You could have just asked to come in late, you know,” Peter remarked, a slight chuckle escaping his bearded lips.

“And have more comments from the other interns about nepotism? I’ll pass.”

Peter laughed at Charity’s candidness before shaking his head in disapproval. “It’s not nepotism. You worked hard and scored better than anyone else on the qualifying exam.”

“Dad,” Charity laughed, “it is nepotism, at least a little. There were fifty interns that were accepted at the same time I was. Many of them have proven to be incredible assets in the political sphere well before we even took that exam. Yet I somehow managed to become the personal assistant of the most powerful human in Exoneron, who also just happens to be my father, despite my only exceptional achievement being a single high-scoring grade on a test. Seems like I had a bit of an advantage.”

“Charity,” Peter sighed. “That’s not entirely true.”

“Dad,” Charity retorted, “You know it is. You’re not only the ambassador of Caladun. You’re the head of the high council. The people you answer to aren’t even people. They’re the Elite—crazy, powerful, immortal soldiers most people only read about in history books—and you’re one of the only four people alive that are allowed to even see them in person. Anyone would kill for this position, or work their entire lives just to be able to have a meeting with you. Yet here I am as an intern, spending all my working hours managing your schedule.”

Peter blushed, unsure of how to respond. While what Charity said was true, Peter despised being reminded of his high status and power. He carried himself humbly and preferred to remain unseen; however, his many years of faithful, honest service in Exoneron’s politics pushed him through the ranks and into the position he holds today. He began his career as an intern, serving council members in whatever measly errands they would give him, much like Charity and many of her peers currently do.

Then in just a few short years, he became a member of the sitting council, which put him in charge of various cities within Caladun, Exoneron’s northern mountain territory. While Peter was content remaining a sitting council member, Caladun’s citizens practically pushed him to become Caladun’s ambassador among the high council the moment the position became available due to his genuine, humble demeanor and servant-like attitude.

That was a promotion that Peter did not take lightly. There were only four high council members in all of Exoneron, one from each of Exoneron’s districts: the immense mountains of Caladun in the North, the salty seas of Piscina in the west, the grand cities of Megalopolis in the south, and the vast forests of Saltas in the east. To be promoted by his fellow citizens to such a prestigious position was a great honor that also involved great sacrifice.

Serving in the high council meant swearing an oath to faithfully serve King Abaddon, the Elite, and the people of Exoneron for the rest of his life. He understood it meant learning secrets he could never tell his wife or daughter and that to break his oath meant death, not only for him but also for his family. He humbly accepted and faithfully served, giving his all to his country and king. Then just last year, the head of the high council, the former ambassador of Saltus, passed away. When that happened, Peter was unanimously voted as his replacement by the other high council members.

Charity grew up watching her father’s career and how his humility and compassion seemed to catapult him to a position as coveted as the high chairman of all Exoneron: head of the high council and the single most powerful human in the country. She always admired her father. He was faithful to a fault and the most humble man she knew. He devoted his life to serving others, and she desired to have the same golden heart he did. That desire drew her to follow in his footsteps, despite her hatred of the monotonous work she now experienced in her day-to-day life as an intern. She wanted to make a difference for people not as fortunate as she had been, even if it meant doing so one paper at a time.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

She shuffled her papers and listened to her father’s footsteps softly press against the soft carpet as he walked away. Quietness filled the room as Peter sat behind his mahogany desk. He began sorting through files and budgets he needed to review and approve before his meeting with various council members. Slowly, the gentle tick-tocking of the clock and soft scratching of pens were the only sounds heard in the high chairman’s grand office.

“Hey, Dad, you have a schedule conflict today,” Charity said without looking up from her work, her voice disrupting the peaceful quiet that had settled soundly between them.

“What’s the issue?”

“You have an interview with a new transfer from the Megalopolis office and a meeting with Mr. August Finch to discuss the mountain miner’s winter budget both scheduled at nine o’clock.”

Peter thought for a moment then replied, “I can’t reschedule with Finch. That budget needs to be set today. You can handle the interview with the new transfer for me.”

“I can what?” Charity said in disbelief, looking up at her father to see if he was joking.

“You heard me,” Peter smirked, not meeting the glare he knew his daughter was giving him.

“Dad, that’s not fair! You know I hate interviewing people, and I’m an intern! I’m not supposed to interview transfers.”

“Weren’t you the one that reminded me just a minute ago that I answer to no one? If I say you can interview the transfer, then you can do just that,” Peter replied smugly as he crossed his arms and gave Charity a broad smile.

“Dad,” Charity groaned. Peter couldn’t help but chuckle. He leaned back casually in his chair, his eyes flipping from his frustrated daughter to the crystal clock. As he did, he noticed it was nearly time for the first of many meetings that day. He quickly gathered his papers and walked toward the door, leaving Charity to mumble in agitation alone.

“Good luck!” He shouted gleefully, closing the door behind him.

As silence filled the room once more, Charity’s mind began to race. She could not understand how such a mistake could have even occurred. She was always incredibly meticulous with her father’s schedule and careful to never double book him. She even recalled checking the schedule before she left work yesterday and had only seen his meeting with Mr. Finch. Eventually, she shook her head, resignation filling her mind as she concluded it surely must have all been a mistake on her end, and now she was facing the consequences of her carelessness.

Charity sat pouting for only a moment before she heard a firm knock on the office door. She sighed once more, telling herself that regardless of how it happened, the transfer was here, and she now had to deal with it. She cleared her throat, straightened her skirt, and did her best to fix her unruly hair before shouting, “Come in!” in her most professional tone.

“Good morning,” said a deep, cheerful voice from the entryway.

“Good morning,” Charity replied, looking up to greet the newcomer. Her breath hitched as she met the icy, blue eyes of the incredibly large man approaching her desk. He was tall, easily standing a head and shoulders above anyone she had ever met before. His short, blonde hair was neatly groomed, and his shirt and dress pants didn’t have a single wrinkle. His tan skin, calloused hands, and strong arms contrasted greatly with the preconceived image of an old, pencil-pushing office man she had concocted in her mind. The man before her looked like someone familiar with hard work and manual labor, which was not typical for political transfers.

She was simultaneously perplexed and fascinated. It seemed that everything about him, even down to the confident stride in his approach, was different from the typical demeanor she usually encountered. Even the lengthy list of accomplishments Charity saw in his file could have easily been for someone ten years her senior, yet seeing him now, it was clear he was only around her age. The man approaching her desk was truly an enigma, and she desired to learn more.

He smiled broadly and extended a cup similar to the one her father had given her earlier. She happily took the beverage from his hands and sipped, the additional caffeine helping to ebb the encroaching exhaustion. The newcomer chuckled at her excited expression before sitting across from Charity. His calm demeanor and sly smile tugged at Charity’s curiosity, practically begging her to learn more.

“My name is Andrew Stallard, though I’m assuming you knew that already,” he said in a deep tone that rumbled from within his chest.