Step-Dad Assistant11

There was no juicy gossip to be had here. I’d have to make do with my sordid fantasies of catching him in the act and my mother divorcing him and getting half his fortune.

When I entered the elevator, I didn’t see a number listed for his floor. There was, however, a keycard slot near the bottom, which I assumed was meant for people like me. I slipped mine in and the panel sucked it in, holding it in place as some digital process read the card and instructed the elevator to take me to the appropriate floor.

That, at least, was interesting, and a phenomenal way of keeping out solicitors and other unwanted visitors. If they couldn’t even find your floor listed, they couldn’t “stumble in by mistake.”

I was surprised when the doors opened. The elevator had moved so fast and silently that I hadn’t realized we’d ascended thirty-three floors already. Not only that, but my stepfather’s inner sanctum was positively pristine, more so than I’d even imagined.

It was the very definition of immacul