Chapter 2 — A Day as a Janitor

The elderly man peered at my employee badge. The plastic card was pinned firmly to the breast pocket of my gray sanitation uniform. Ngoc Tran, Head of the General Administration Department. He stared intently at the printed letters, and his expression shifted subtly, though he kept his thoughts hidden behind a mask of indifference.

"Who arranged for you to be sent here?" he finally asked.

"The personnel department's transfer directive," I answered evenly. The middle-aged man standing beside him immediately glanced toward the elder. The elderly man extended a hand.

"Where is the order?"

I retrieved a duplicate copy from the plastic folder attached to my cleaning cart and handed it over. The old man took the paper. His fingers were dry and bony, the knuckles prominent against the crisp sheet. He read the first page in silence. When his eyes dropped to the official approval stamp at the bottom, the corners of his mouth tightened into a hard, downward curve. The middle-aged man lowered his voice, asking tentatively, "Chairman Tham?"

So he was indeed Tham Trieu An, returned at last. Yet he did not fly into a rage on the spot. He merely folded the transfer document neatly in half.

"Which areas have you cleaned today?"

"The twenty-eighth floor, the general manager's office, the conference rooms, the corridors, and the pantry," I replied.

"Did anyone give you a hard time?"

I looked him straight in the eye. "I am a sanitation worker. I only do ordinary work."

Tham Trieu An studied me for a few long seconds before letting out a brief, dry laugh. "Ngoc Tran, you still harbor that exact same stubborn temper."

Mieu suddenly lifted her head, but I remained silent. Tham Trieu An walked over to the old framed photograph hanging on the wall. The glass surface had been polished clean by my own hands. He gazed at the young faces captured in the past.

"No one has bothered to wipe this photograph in years."

"It was required by today's work duties," I said.

The middle-aged man leaned in, lowering his tone. "Chairman Tham, the night shift roster downstairs still needs to be reviewed."

Tham Trieu An gave a slight nod. "Let's go look."

With that, he turned toward the elevator. After taking two steps, he paused and glanced back over his shoulder. "What time do your working hours end?"

"The schedule states midnight."

"Then work until midnight."

"Understood," I replied.

Mieu looked frantic. "Aunt Tran, you've been working the entire day!"

I gave her a single, warning look, and she clamped her mouth shut.

After Tham Trieu An descended to the lower levels, the twenty-ninth floor plunged back into silence. I finished mopping the floor outside the chairman's office, where a thin sliver of cold light leaked from beneath the door. I did not step inside.

At ten-fifty at night, I pushed my cart down to the ground-floor lobby. Only the night-security guard and the receptionist were on duty. The attendance sign-in sheet rested on the front desk. I signed my name in strict accordance with the procedure: Ngoc Tran. Pre-midnight inspection completed. Old Ho, the security guard, looked at me with a complex expression in his eyes.

"Sister Tran, did you really work the whole day through?"

I placed the pen back in its holder. "The directive stated until the end of today."

Old Ho let out a heavy sigh. "They are bullying people far too cruelly."

"Don't turn off the security cameras," I told him.

Old Ho blinked, startled. "What?"

I met his gaze. "Someone is coming back tonight."

He was about to ask another question when the sharp beam of headlights swept across the glass entrance doors. A sleek black sedan pulled up to the curb. Tham Trieu An stepped out of the vehicle. Instead of heading back up to the upper floors, he walked straight to the reception desk. The middle-aged assistant followed closely behind, picking up the attendance sign-in sheet.

At first, Tham Trieu An merely glanced at it casually. The next second, his hand froze. His eyes locked onto my name: Ngoc Tran. He stared at it for a long, agonizingly quiet moment—long enough for beads of sweat to form on Old Ho's forehead. Then, he slowly raised his head.

"What time did she arrive to start her shift today?"

Old Ho's voice was tight with tension. "Before nine-thirty."

"Which areas has she worked in?"

"From the twenty-eight floor down to the ground floor, plus the perimeter of the twenty-ninth floor."

Tham Trieu An's finger pressed down hard onto the sign-in sheet, leaving a deep indentation in the paper. "Notify all senior executives."

The middle-aged man immediately whipped out his phone. Tham Trieu An's voice was low and menacing. "I want everyone present at the company within twenty minutes."

He looked again at the employee badge pinned to my chest, the old plastic card catching the lobby lights. Head of the General Administration Department. Ngoc Tran. He reached out his hand toward me.

"Give me your badge."

I unclipped it and placed it in his palm. Tham Trieu An closed his fingers tightly around the card, spun on his heel, and strode toward the conference room.

Instantly, the shrill ringing of mobile phones began to echo through the quiet lobby. Trinh Hoai Nhien was the first to return the call. The middle-aged assistant switched the phone to speaker mode, and Trinh Hoai Nhien's voice rang out.

"Chairman Tham, is there an urgent matter at this late hour?"

Tham Trieu An stared at the closed doors of the conference room. "Turn around and come back."

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line. "Has something gone wrong with the project?"

Tham Trieu An slammed my transfer order down onto the reception counter. "It is the people themselves who have gone wrong."

At twenty-seven minutes past eleven, every light in the main conference room blazed to life. Trinh Hoai Nhien was the first to burst through the doors, his coat buttoned askew and sleep creases still visible on his cheek, though he frantically tried to smooth his appearance as a deputy general manager. When he caught sight of me standing rigidly by the wall, his stride faltered.

Then came La Thien, whose hurried makeup application had left her lipstick slightly smudged. Phan Minh arrived last, clutching a laptop tightly to his chest; he nearly tripped over the leg of a chair as he entered.

Tham Trieu An sat at the head of the long table. My employee badge rested directly before him, with the transfer directive pinned beneath it like an indictment. Not a single person dared to utter a word.