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The following week, another box, a big sister to the first, appeared as well. Did someone add water? As with the other, she shied from temptation, no matter how it flirted with its glossy color and sexy black print. She now had a small tower going, like some ultra-high-end Harry and David, or important piece of Andy Warhol pop art. And she figured that if they really were from Tiffany and Company, doubtful as that was, her patience might result in the worst-case-scenario of an even bigger treasure trove.

A few days later, she found a small note sitting on her desk. Unmarked on the outside. She looked around before carefully unfolding it.

Aren’t you going to open the boxes?

The boxes, like the note, had shown up first thing in the morning, before she’d arrived. Raised by a kind but crusty Gunnery Sergeant, she always got to work early, often the first to be at the office, or so she thought. More often than not, she beat out Fife. Same at the end of the day. She was hard-wired to set the bar high for herself, and learning a new job made her double-down on her driven work ethic. But that meant that whoever the culprit was, they either stayed extremely late, or were insanely early. Or, slept there.

Every floor was also highly restricted, with each employee’s access coded into their card. If you didn’t belong on a floor, you weren’t getting there. And Madison worked on the fifty-first floor, just below the CEO and VP Suites. Despite the grandiose size, there were only five offices on her floor. Three belonged to women, one to a flamboyant, gay man, and hers. Two of the women had boyfriends and the other was married. The close proximity suspects were eliminated.

She fixated on the note, tenderly biting her lower lip in, and contemplated its suggestion. Who could they be from? If the boxes truly from Tiffany’s, it was likely incredibly expensive jewelry, but that was sort of ridiculous. Sure, Tiffany jewelry just shows up. Because that’s the kind of stuff that happens all the time. Perhaps it’s a test? Or a prank? A new form of corporate hazing. A candid camera likely waiting to expose her. No matter what it is, it’s most definitely not a small tower of diamonds. Or maybe ...

Madison pulled out her phone, clicking on Safari. She punched in the keywords: corporate, espionage, recruiting, and tactics. Nearly seven-hundred-thousand results found.

She scanned them, one by one, realizing this may be exactly the type of tactic a corporate spy would employ. Engrossed in her search, she startled at the sudden ping of a Skype pop-up window on her screen. She managed a quick-reflex save after nearly dropping her phone, and carefully laid it on the desk. She glanced at her monitor.

ANONYMOUS: Hi.

MADISON: Hi.

ANONYMOUS: I left you the boxes.

Madison flushed. Oh my God, the corporate espionage recruiter is here in the building right now.

ANONYMOUS: I’m actually contacting you about some serious company business.

Yup, here we go.

ANONYMOUS: I’m taking an employee morale survey. What Starbucks beverage would make you happiest right now?

Okay, not exactly the tactic I would have imagined.

MADISON: Right now? Well, in an effort to support employee morale, I’d have to say an iced matcha latte with almond milk.

ANONYMOUS: The green drink? Really?

MADISON: Hey, don’t knock it. It’s incredibly refreshing. My Skype isn’t quite identifying you. Who this is?

ANONYMOUS: Rather than just outright tell you, how about we meet? And if for any reason you’re not interested, you go about your work and I’ll go about mine. No questions asked.

Madison looked suspiciously at the screen, taking a bit too long to respond. Anonymous resumed typing.

ANONYMOUS: Look, if I tell you who I am right off the bat, you might be less interested.

MADISON: Really? Why?

ANONYMOUS: Because I look like Igor and need to bribe women with lavish gifts to spend time with me.

Madison laughed quietly. The comment conjured thoughts of a Halloween long ago. Her father had been the mad scientist, her brother, Jack, would be Frankenstein’s monster, and she was relegated to being Igor. She’d wanted to be the monster, but her brother was eight years older and the obvious choice. She cried and refused to do Halloween until her brother offered to be the monster for the first part of trick or treating, and she could be it for the second part while he assumed the role of Igor.

During the second round, he’d popped her on his shoulders, and introduced her to every neighbor as Frankie, and she’d, in turn, introduced him as her loyal servant Igz.

For years, the nicknames would pop up now and again, whenever someone had the upper hand. That person would be declared Frankie, and the other would be Igz. And even though Jack should have been the Frankie, more often than not, he was usually Igz. Madison knew he delighted in giving her the upper hand, so much so that Frankie became one of her steady family nicknames. Jack always took care of her, and she really missed that about him. She missed him.

ANONYMOUS: But my close friends call me Igz.

Madison’s expression dropped. She sat, stunned. Her head was spinning. Does he know? How could he know? This can’t be a coincidence. Espionage recruiter or not, she had to know exactly who this was.

MADISON: You don’t have to bribe me with gifts. We can meet. Have coffee or something.

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