Chapter 3: HIRING WITH A MOTIVE

VICTOR’S POV

Today was Grandpa’s 70th birthday. For as long as I could remember, Grandpa had been my anchor, my guide, and my strength. He raised me after my parents passed away when I was just a baby. A man as serious and focused as he was, taking care of a helpless infant must have been a monumental challenge. Yet he did it, and he did it well.

Lately, though, I’d been too caught up in work to visit him. Weeks turned into months, and the guilt lingered like a shadow. So, today, I cleared my schedule, canceled a meeting, and made sure nothing came between us.

On my way home, I decided to pick up a gift. Grandpa deserved something special. As I stood at the counter in the store, browsing through options, I overheard a complaint from a young lady to the salesgirl. Her voice carried sharpness, but beneath it was an undercurrent of sadness that was impossible to ignore. It wasn’t just her tone that caught my attention—it was the weight of her words, each one laced with quiet frustration.

Oddly enough, instead of feeling irritated by the scene, I found myself intrigued. She had a slim, elegant frame that moved with an effortless grace, her posture hinting at both confidence and vulnerability. Her features, though delicate, carried a strength that made her impossible to overlook. She walked away, her presence lingered, leaving an unexpected impression I couldn’t quite shake.

---

When I finally arrived home, the look on Grandpa’s face made the effort worthwhile.

“You shouldn’t have canceled work for this, Victor,” he said, smiling warmly.

I shook my head and handed him the gift. “Nothing is more important than you, Grandpa. You’ve done too much for me. This is the least I can do.”

We embraced, and he patted my back like he always did when he wanted to say he was proud of me.

The moment of warmth didn’t last long. Just as we were settling into the evening’s celebration, the doorbell rang. I frowned, wondering who could be interrupting.

When I opened the door, two police officers stood there, their expressions grim.

“We’re here to take Mr. Thomas into custody,” one of them said. “He’s accused of involvement in a murder case from 25 years ago.”

I froze. “What? This has to be some sort of mistake!”

Grandpa stepped forward, his calm demeanor unshaken. “Victor, let them do their job. I have nothing to hide.”

But I couldn’t just stand by. My chest tightened as they led him away. Without wasting a second, I called Daniel, my best friend and a trusted police officer.

“Daniel,” I said, “Grandpa’s been arrested for murder. You have to help me.”

His voice was firm but reassuring. “I’ll look into it right away, Victor. Just stay calm.”

---

That night, I barely slept. My mind raced, trying to piece together the puzzle. Grandpa wasn’t capable of murder—he wasn’t capable of hurting anyone. There had to be some kind of misunderstanding or a setup.

The next morning, I called my secretary and ordered him to dig into the case.

“I need every detail,” I told him. “Anything that might clear Grandpa’s name.”

He worked tirelessly, and after a few hours, he finally had some information.

“Victor,” he said, placing a file on my desk, “the daughter of the deceased is applying for an assistant position at Sterling Corporation.”

Curious, I opened the file and froze when I saw the photo. It was her— the girl from the store. The one whose fiery attitude had caught my attention.

---

I decided to personally attend her interview. This was unusual for me. I rarely joined entry-level hiring processes, and my presence caused some surprise.

“Mr. Victor,” one of the interviewers whispered, “you’ve never joined these interviews before.”

I ignored the comment, focusing on the young woman sitting across from us. Her name was Isla Morgan. There was something captivating about her—the way she sat confidently yet with a trace of nervousness in her eyes.

"Am sorry sir," he said when he noticed my silence to his comment.

“Ms. Morgan,” I began, “why do you think you’re the right person for this job?”

She looked directly at me, her gaze steady, as though she wasn’t intimidated by the power imbalance in the room. “I don’t have office experience, but I’ve worked in a busy coffee shop for two years. There, I learned how to manage time, solve problems, and handle different types of people. It taught me to be strong and flexible, and I believe these skills will help me in this job.”

Her voice was calm and collected, but there was a certain warmth in her tone that made me want to hear more.

Another interviewer frowned. “You’ve never worked in a company before. How will you handle the pressure here?”

She smiled faintly, her lips curling ever so slightly. “I’m used to pressure. Serving impatient customers during the morning rush and keeping everything under control has taught me to stay calm and get things done. I’m confident I can do the same here.”

I found myself intrigued, not just by her words but by her demeanor. She wasn’t trying to impress anyone; she was being herself.

“What would you do,” I asked, “if we gave you a task you don’t know how to do?”

Her lips parted slightly as she thought, and for a brief moment, I noticed how her eyes softened. “I’d take the time to learn and research it. If I needed help, I’d ask. I believe the only way to grow is by taking on new challenges and learning from them.”

Her answer was practical, but the quiet passion in her voice made it feel personal. She wasn’t just answering a question; she was revealing a part of herself.

“Where do you see yourself in five years?” I asked, leaning forward slightly, curious about her response.

Her expression shifted, a subtle vulnerability crossing her features. “I see myself as someone who has grown in my career and as a person. I want to make a difference wherever I work and prove that hard work pays off.”

There was something unspoken in her words, something that hinted at a deeper story. I wanted to know what it was, and that thought alone caught me off guard.

When the interview ended, I stood and shook her hand. Her touch was soft yet firm, and for a brief moment, the world seemed to slow.

“Thank you, Ms. Morgan. We’ll be in touch,” I said, my voice quieter than usual.

As she left the room, her perfume lingered—a delicate, sweet scent that stayed with me.

I turned to the panel. “Hire her,” I said, my tone leaving no room for argument.

One of them hesitated. “Sir, there are others with more experience—”

“I said hire her,” I repeated firmly, cutting them off.

As I watched her walk away through the glass panel, I felt an unfamiliar pull. Isla Morgan wasn’t just another candidate; she was something more. I couldn’t quite put it into words, but I knew one thing—I wasn’t going to let her fade into the background.

Later that day, I told Daniel about the coincidence.

“Hire her,” he suggested. “If her father was the victim, she might know something about the case.”

"I already did," I said. but my reasons weren’t purely investigative. There was something about Isla that intrigued me on a personal level. Maybe it was the fire in her eyes or the way she carried herself with quiet strength.

This was only the beginning. I was determined to uncover the truth about Grandpa’s case, and somehow, I felt that Isla might hold the key.