Though he wasn't exactly the kind of driver who never gave you a moment's worry, he at least did what was expected. Pickups and drop-offs were on time, and the car was always spotless.
But starting last month, things changed.
The day it began, Alfred came to pick me up and there was suddenly a woman caked in heavy makeup sitting in the passenger seat.
I stared, confused. Alfred hurried out to open my door and explained in a low voice:
"Ms. Pruitt, this is my girlfriend, Cara Fox. Her workplace is on the way to the office, so I figured I'd give her a ride."
I nodded and said nothing.
Giving someone a ride along the way wasn't a big deal.
But gradually, something started to feel off.
What was supposed to be "on the way" turned into a fixed, daily routine that never varied.
Every morning, Alfred picked up Cara first, then came for me.
At the start, Cara just liked snapping photos in the passenger seat and posting videos, showing off to people that she was riding in a Maybach.
I could understand that. She was young. A little vanity was normal.
What I couldn't understand was the look she gave me every single time. It was pure disgust, as though I owed her a million dollars.
A few times, after I got into the car, she sprayed perfume in my direction and complained loudly:
"God, this is so annoying. How does a car this expensive always reek of something cheap?"
I thought she'd actually smelled something off, so I specifically told Alfred to take the car in for a thorough deep clean and disinfection.
But she only got worse. Sometimes, after I stepped out, she'd spray disinfectant on the seat where I'd been sitting.
Other times, she'd lay a disposable seat cover over my spot before I even got in.
When I confronted Alfred about it, he always offered the same sheepish excuse in private:
"Ms. Pruitt, Cara's just worried the car isn't clean enough and might stain your clothes. She's particular about hygiene, that's all."
I didn't think much of it.
After all, I had too much on my plate every day. With projects worth hundreds of millions passing through my hands, I simply didn't have the energy to squabble with some young girl over petty nonsense.
Until this morning.
When I saw the note stuck to my usual seat, it all clicked.
Cara thought I was a freeloader.
I'd been planning to teach both Alfred and Cara a lesson.
But now Alfred was on his knees in front of me, begging relentlessly:
"Ms. Pruitt, I swear, it'll never happen again."
"I'll set Cara straight today. I'll never give her rides again."
"Please, my father's health isn't good. For his sake, forgive me this once."
The thought of Owen made me sigh. "Forget it."
"I'm dropping it."
After the officer left, Alfred let out a long, heavy breath of relief, thanking me over and over, his attitude suddenly impeccable.
I said nothing more. I got in the car and told him to take me to the office.
For a while after that, Alfred actually behaved.
Every time he came to pick me up, the passenger seat was empty. No sign of Cara.
The car had been cleaned, too. Every trace of that note had been scrubbed away.
His driving was still smooth. No issues there.
The only problem was that he kept showing up late.
And every time, he had an excuse:
"Sorry, Ms. Pruitt. There was an accident on the road. Traffic was backed up for a while."
"I'm really sorry, Ms. Pruitt. My alarm didn't go off. I overslept."
"Ms. Pruitt, a pipe burst in my apartment. I was dealing with the neighbors downstairs about the water damage, so I ran a little behind."
The excuses always sounded flimsy, but since his attitude was decent enough, I let it slide.
