Storm and Silence-In Modern Times

Chapter 1

The mission I was on was a dangerous one. If I failed, the most likely punishment would be death. 

If I succeeded, it would be the biggest "up-yours" to all of the chauvinists in London. Perhaps in all of England. I just had to do one thing:

Act like a man.

It's not as easy as it sounds. I had to borrow the entire outfit of a suit and tie from my reclusive hermit of an uncle. Sneaking out of the house proved difficult, seeing as my aunt wanted me to in the house for extra etiquette lessons. What is this, the 1800's? Get ahead of the program, woman! Unfortunately, she wants me and my sisters to end up being married to the richest bachelors in England so she can get money in the process. However, it provided the perfect excuse, because I had told her that I was heading to college to flirt with the business majors. She gladly encouraged me to do so, proud of herself for letting me attend college.

I tried not to roll my eyes as I walked away, my backpack holding my true intentions.

I was only partially lying, for I did indeed go to the college, but only to change in the locker room of the gym. For two weeks, I had watched the pattern to see at what time women would exit and enter, and had perfected a time slot to go in there and change.

When I did change, I noticed that there were two physical traits that would obviously paint me as a woman.

One, my hair. It was a brown curly mess. A mess that would result in me getting caught. So, I did what any sensible feminist would do: I cut it off. Simple. It was the perfect length that it would make me look like a man when curly and a mess as it usually is, and whenever I would straighten it, I could look like a girl.

The second thing wasn't as easy to fix. I looked behind me at my f-. No. Don't use the "f" word. It's simply...generous. Yes, there. My generous derriere. It would be quite obvious that I was a woman. Unfortunately, there was nothing I could do about that. I had to make do and fix my posture to make it less noticeable. Then I left.

Now here I am, walking to the front doors of Ambrose Co. A tall skyscraper on 322 Leadenhall Street under the official name of Empire House. The skyscraper had a neoclassical architectural style, reminding me of the Greek temples and buildings that once worshipped great gods. The building belonged to a mysterious man by the name of Rikkard Ambrose. No one knew anything about him except that he did not hire women in his company. There wasn't a single picture when you looked him up. On the company's website, there's nothing on the man in charge. Simply his name. The only thing I know is that he's a miserly, chauvinistic son of a bachelor. I really needed to improve my range of profanity. Maybe I could watch some 18-rated movies to do just that.

 As I walked ever closer to the oak front doors with the large brass doorknobs, I felt my stomach clench in fear. God, did I want to do this?  Of course, Lillian. You must. Otherwise, you will disappoint your friends and all of the feminists in England. Imagine what Patty would do if she found out that you were a coward and ran away? She would use her grandmother's parasol and stab you!

I shivered and grabbed the doorknob, and gave it a pull.

Here goes nothing, and with that thought, I took a deep breath and stepped inside.