I'm the most invisible security guard at the company—so ordinary and forgettable that no one even knows my name.
And that's just the way I like it.
But what they don't know is that I'm not who I appear to be.
I'm hiding, playing the part of an Average Joe, but beneath it all, I'm a modern-day corpse guide.
By day, I'm cleaning up messes, the physical ones, the ones that need erasing from the world.
By night, I'm helping the dead, making sure they pass on their lineage, their legacy.
It's a delicate job and one most people never understand.
I thought I'd be done with this line of work once I hit my target.
A $100 million. That was my number.
My ticket out, my way to leave all this behind.
But tonight? Well, tonight, everything changed.
I got offered a job worth $50 million.
——
Seeing all those zeroes, my drowsiness disappeared immediately.
Fifty freaking million!
That was the jackpot, the golden ticket.
With this one job, I could retire right now. I could just walk away from all this and live easily for the rest of my life.
I was excited and about to accept the job. After all, this was the job I'd been waiting for.
But as I sat there, staring at those zeros on the screen, something in the back of my mind pulled me up short.
My gut told me that something wasn't right.
A payout ten times the usual rate?
That's way too good to be true. I'd been doing this long enough to know when something was off. No one just handed out $50 million for nothing.
So, I didn't jump on the offer right away. I hesitated. Something felt wrong, and I wasn't about to risk everything on a whim.
I hit pause and asked a few more questions.
The person on the other end didn't waste any time responding.
"The situation's special," the voice said quickly. "The deceased's family is too grief-stricken to move the body. They need you to help her conceive right at the scene of death. Do the job first, and then clean up."
I frowned.
"I don't take high-risk jobs," I replied.
I've worked hard all these years to save tens of millions. There was no way I was going to waste it before I could enjoy it.
The voice on the other end seemed to sense my hesitation. I could hear them shuffle, probably looking for the right words.
Then they dropped the bomb.
The deceased was Harper Archdale, daughter of Frank Archdale, the wealthiest, most powerful man in the capital's elite circle.
Devastated by love, she cut her wrists at home and died.
And her death?
It was gruesome that even her mother, Sandra Archdale, the one who'd doted on her most, fainted at the sight.
Frank Archdale was terrified. He didn't want the news to leak out. He was afraid it would ruin his company's stock prices. Worse, he had no heir—no one to carry on his name.
That's why he required someone like me to clear the mess, tidy up the scene, and maintain discretion. He wasn't paying that kind of money just for nothing.
"Of course, this money doesn't come free. You must guarantee 100% success," the voice insisted. "And agree to a body search to ensure complete secrecy."
I considered it for a moment. This was supposed to be my last job before retiring. The fewer people who knew about it, the better. Reputation was everything in this line of work, second only to discretion.
With that in mind, I agreed.
I didn't know how long it would take for them to organize things, but less than thirty minutes later, a damn helicopter landed outside my apartment to pick me up. Talk about fancy. I had to hold back a grin.
These people weren't playing around.
When I got to the Archdale Mansion, I was struck by the sheer extravagance of the place. It was bigger than any house I'd ever seen, even in the movies.
I paused for a second, taking it all in.
The lawn, the marble pillars, the sprawling estate...
Hell, the front gate probably costs more than my entire apartment building.
I started doing the math in my head.
With my monthly salary of $3,500 as a security guard, I'd have to save every penny for what?
Decades? Lifetimes?
And that still wouldn't be enough to afford a place like this.
I was lost in my thoughts when a burst of crying snapped me back into the present.
I looked up.
The living room was decorated with wedding ornaments, bright red symbols of love and commitment attached to a pitch-black coffin.
In the quiet of the night, it felt downright creepy.
That's when I saw her. Sandra Archdale, the mother, was sobbing uncontrollably.
Meanwhile, Frank Archdale, her husband, was standing next to her. His face was drawn and exhausted.
When he saw me, he broke down.
"Mr. Keeper, you've got to help us," Frank cried, choking on his words. "We've worked our whole lives, and Harper was our only child. Now, we, the gray-haired, are sending off the black-haired. If we can't hold on to at least one hope… my wife and I… we can't go on living…"
The man standing before me had graying temples and a face drawn with exhaustion.
Frank Archdale looked nothing like the charismatic CEO I had seen on TV.
I recalled the stories about him.
Orphaned as a child, he built his empire from nothing. Now, in his old age, he'd lost his only child and had no one left to carry on his legacy.
It was a truly tragic story.
Looking at the devastated couple, I couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy.
