55. My Miracle

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Before I could say anything, the door at the back of the room opened, and Bracewell emerged from the inner office. For all her reputation, she didn't look as fierce as I might have expected. She was tall, held her back ramrod straight, and had her hair pulled back in a tight bun. When she looked in my direction, I could feel her disappointment like a physical force. That expression could almost have been disgust, but wasn't quite there, and she didn't show any of the righteous indignation I would have expected. She was perhaps fifteen years older than me at most, middle aged but younger than any senior executive I had encountered before.

She was so serious, so focused, that I knew I should be terrified. But somehow I had sailed right through a maelstrom of fear and found the calm at the eye of the storm. The little patch where I knew the worst was about to happen, and that nothing I did now would make the slightest bit of difference. And in that mood, all I could think of was that she looked every inch the stereotype of the stern headmistress, the teacher nobody would dare to cross. But of course, in any regular school the strictest teacher was often the kindest to those who genuinely needed help. Almost cruel to the troublemakers, and a motherly figure to the weak, I found that it was strangely easy to imagine the Tyrant as a Mommy Domme when she wasn't working.

"Miss Noel?" she asked, voice slow and measured. "I've been expecting you. Would you accompany me outside? I find that the power dynamic of meeting in my office can be quite detrimental to an open and honest discussion, in addition to which I have postponed my lunch break twice already today. If you have no objections, we can talk and eat at the same time. Although, of course, I am happy to return to my office at any point if you feel it is appropriate for our conversation to be on the record."

"Thank you." I was starting to get hungry myself, and would normally have been getting lunch now. So I was pleasantly surprised when the most dreaded executive in town led me down the back stairs to a small café which had a selection of tables set out under some trees. Probably part-owned by the company, a lot of things in this town were. All so that our people could have a pleasant working environment, and get on well with the locals.

I joined the line and ordered myself a burger, while Miss Bracewell asked for chicken nuggets and fries. They were served in a little bucket decorated with cartoon images of a dancing chicken, and looked a little out of place in the hands of a hard-nosed businesswoman, but I wasn't going to take her any less seriously just because we were conducting our business while walking along a path through one of the many parks that spread across Upper Ashfields.

"SYL has a very specific policy regarding personal leisure activities while on company premises," she said, wiping away any doubt about why we were here. "I wonder if you can refresh my memory on what that is?"

"The company doesn't object to casual web browsing, chat, gaming, or... There's only a problem with activities that aren't specifically prohibited."

"Correct. And prohibitions include commercial activity in competition with any SYL division or relevant client, illegal activities, harassment of other employees or members of the public, obstructing any person's freedom of expression, and activities likely to damage the public image of SYL or its partners. So... are you aware of a website called the Fetish Library?"

She picked up a nugged between thumb and forefinger, dipped it in a little pot of sauce, and then conveyed it to her mouth while waiting for an answer. But words had deserted me.

"No? Then let me inform you. The Fetish Library is a website which allows people to post fictional or fictionalised accounts of consenting adults indulging in whatever they enjoy, which initially focused on fetishised material, but now includes stories dealing with many kinds of alternative and even controversial lifestyle choices, even when they are not sexual in nature. Does that jog your memory?"

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