Franklin Smith

Franklin Smith strides into the reception area with a calm, self-assured air, his sharp gaze flicking over the young woman sitting behind the desk. Her face is a polite mask. "Miss James, I presume?" Franklin says, extending his hand for a firm handshake. I greet him warmly, returning the handshake.

"Nice to meet you. Follow me, please. My office is right this way." He leads me down a long hallway, lined with dark wood paneling and framed photographs of construction sites and machinery. The smell of stale cigarettes and old paper permeates the air.

As we walk, he introduces himself, telling me that he is the head of operations for the company, a role that has kept him in the region for nearly two decades. We make small talk about the weather and the current projects, his voice low and reassuring.

He stops at a large mahogany door, pushing it open to reveal a spacious office, filled with books, paperwork, and a large, well-used mahogany desk. "Please, have a seat," he says, gesturing to the chair across from his.

Franklin Smith closes the door behind us, the clunk of its latch signaling the end of the receptionist's disapproving gaze. He's a handsome, rough man with silver hair, the creases around his eyes deep from years of working out in the sun.

He holds out my seat, and I sit gracefully, my composure intact. Frank takes his place behind his desk, his face an enigma of thought and curiosity. "So, you're here looking for a job, eh?" he asks, the roughness of his voice belied by the genuine warmth in his eyes.

I hesitate, unsure of how to break the news to him. "Actually, Mr. Smith, I'm following up on a complaint by Liz Baxter," I lie. "She mentioned that you might have some information." The mention of Liz's name causes his brow to furrow, a deep frown etching itself across his features.

"Oh, Liz." I can sense the tension building in the room, but I steel myself, ready to lay out my findings and the suspicions that have led me to this point. "I'm sorry to hear she had a bad experience. What exactly is this about?" I press on, undeterred by his **** to reveal more. "I understand that, but could you at least tell me about the two men who suddenly left the job?"

Frank hesitates, the furrow between his brows deepening. "I'm afraid I can't divulge any specific details about that, miss. We have to protect the privacy of our employees. However, let me assure you that we did take swift action, sending four more men the very next morning. The project was back on schedule and, as far as I know, Liz Baxter should have nothing to complain about."

His assurances ring hollow in my ears. The suspicion in the back of my mind refusing to be quieted. I sense that there's more to this than he's letting on, a secret hidden beneath the veneer of his smooth words. The truth is tantalizingly close, and nothing, not even frowns of powerful men like Frank Smith, will deter me from finding it.