To Color Your Life

Justin left his Ferrari in the building's underground parking lot. After going through several corridors that looked more like a labyrinth, he pressed the button of the old elevator.

This part of the publishing house has long been in need of renovation. The skyscraper that was built in its place swallowed up the first building of the Pharaoh publishing house. Only this old elevator was a reminder of the first building. This elevator had only two stops - the first floor and the last one.

Evans breathed a sigh of relief as he made his way to the floor without incident. Getting stuck in the elevator wasn't part of his plans today.

The gray walls of the corridor reminded him of a prison. He had not been there, but he imagined that the prison looked that way. Otherwise, why did his mood spoil every time he got into this building? Despondency is the main feature of the inner world of the Pharaoh publishing house.

Hundreds of thousands of bright, interesting books and absolutely faceless, gloomy life of those who deal with them. This atmosphere suited the serious Jacob well, but not him.

"Fiona, hello. Is grandfather in his office?" Justin entered the office of the head of the publishing house without knocking.

Mrs. Parkinson looked up from her work and looked at the guy. The gold frame made her stern gaze even more tenacious. But Justin noticed her surprise.

Ha, yes, he himself was shocked that he voluntarily came to this citadel of paper and ink.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Evans. You have not warned us about your visit. Mr. Pitcher is working with important documents at the moment, but I can clarify if he can see you. Do I need to tell him about what's the purpose of your visit?"

Justin smirked. If Jacob were in his place, the secretary would not even ask this, but simply let him go ahead.

Not that Evans couldn't give a damn about the rules and tumble into his grandfather's office without knocking. But now he did not want to start their meeting with another conflict as soon as they crossed paths.

"Say that it is about the Pharaoh competition."

Mrs. Parkinson motioned Justin to a chair where he could sit and disappeared behind a huge oak door. A couple of minutes later, she left the office with several thick folders of documents and nodded to the guy for him to go inside.

"Since when do you care about publishing house business?" Mr. Pitcher asked head-on as soon as Justin crossed the threshold of his office.

"Well... Actually, I wanted to clarify a couple of points." Evans slumped into the chair closest to his grandfather's desk and looked around. "Hmm, your office still has the same boring look as always."

"Have you come here to give advice me on interior design or about the competition? Although I sincerely do not understand what you have to do with this."

"Are the results already known? Who won the Pharaoh internship?"

Mr. Pitcher glanced at his grandson over the lid of the laptop he was working on and returned his attention to the screen. "Results are known but not yet published."

"Who?"

"Are you expecting a report from me?" The man continued his work, answering Justin's questions reluctantly, as if he was brushing off an annoying fly that accidentally flew through the window.

"Emily Hayes?"

At the mention of the girl's name, Arthur Pitcher's fingers froze, never touching the keyboard. The crease between the eyebrows deepened. "Do you know her?" The tone with which the question was asked was usually used by police officers when they were interrogating criminals.

Justin felt as though there was not enough oxygen in the room. For a moment he wanted to open the window and let in some fresh air.

"No," he replied.

Grandfather's reaction was too strange. The man's gaze was like a minefield. One wrong move or word - an explosion will follow. It was as if Evans had been caught opening a secret file, protected by the most difficult password, when he had the last character to enter.

Justin swallowed. He stretched out his legs lazily and yawned, trying to look relaxed.

"I received information that her ideas were used by another person to win the competition. Research scholarship which is awarded to the best graduate every year. Pharaoh Publishing is one of the main sponsors of this scholarship, right? It will be a shame if the winner gets it undeservedly."

The guy put a folder with Peter Miller's materials on the edge of the table and moved it to his grandfather. The man took it in his hands and began to turn over the pages, studying the report.

Justin, meanwhile, again looked around the austere office of the head of the publishing house. Same plain walls with several diplomas for participation in book exhibitions. The only furniture was a couple of bookcases and a desk, several armchairs. Not a single flower or bright spot to distract attention.

Evans managed to get acquainted with Miller's competition work. He did not know which of the theses of this nerd belonged to him, and which to the stupid girl. He could only guess, judging by her frantic energy, which caught even him, like an air wave from a fighter flying nearby.

Evans agreed with many of her ideas. This building and publishing house are behind the times. There was a lack of color and and in general, the whole place needed some kind of vividness.

Pharaoh's floors reminded him of the dusty shelves of an abandoned library. They kept amazing books with fantastic worlds inside, but there was no desire to touch the faded and gray tomes.

But as a child, he stuck here all day. He hid under this very table while his grandfather was working. The boy opened the first book that fell into his hands and read, read... Until he fell asleep in the same place, curled up on the floor.

"I have already studied this report." Some time later, Mr. Pitcher responded. "I voiced the ideas of this young man at today's meeting, and they were accepted with great interest. What makes you think that he borrowed them from Emily?"

Emily? Does his grandfather mention the name of a strange girl so easily, as if she is a member of their family? With this intonation, he usually speaks of Zoya, their younger sister. Too much warmth in a normally cold voice.

Justin felt that something was wrong here. As soon as he mentioned Hayes, the old man got involved in the dialogue, and not only pretended to listen to his grandson.

"It doesn't matter how I know it. But it's true."

"Did he steal her ideas?"

Evans hesitated. "No. She gave them to him herself. But that doesn't change the situation! This Miller-"

"Decided to take advice from a friend and added them to his work." Arthur Pitcher finished the sentence for him.

"Brazenly took advantage of the naivety of a girl who fell in love with him and appropriated her ideas! Which she, by the way, was going to include in the essay and win an internship at Pharaoh!"

"Interesting ... Does she think the same way too?"

"What difference does it make what she thinks?!" Justin flared up and immediately stopped under the gaze of his grandfather.

Hell, he didn't notice when he got carried away. Inside him, anger, annoyance and irritation raged at the girl, at this strange conversation. And he was angry mainly at himself. Why did he go to the publishing house at all? For what?

"And what do you want?" asked Mr. Pitcher.

Justin was silent.

"You showed up to me at the height of the working day. You brought a copy of this report, which, by the way, should be available only to members of the commission." Every word of the man seemed to weigh heavier and heavier. "You made unsubstantiated accusations against another person. For what? What did you want me to do, Justin?"

Mr. Pitcher spoke quietly and calmly, but the guy would have preferred his grandfather to shout.

"Even if what you say is true, what does it have to do with you? I don't remember you on the list of applicants for a scholarship with your attitude towards studies."

Justin clenched his jaw. "This Miller is playing dirty. To turn a blind eye to this is to dishonor the objectivity of the publishing house, which Pharaoh is so proud of." He strained through his teeth.

"It is not for you to talk about the honor of Pharaoh!" Mr. Pitcher slammed his fist on the table. "What have you done yourself in order not to dishonor it? Isn't the fact that you are here now a dirty game? You can't even graduate normally! Your life is full of meaningless things! Although you have all the credentials to become the best!"

Justin turned away and stared at the wall. A bitter grin escaped his lips. "Hah, the best... Want the second perfect Jacob who is good at everything? Well, I'm sorry. We are twins, not clones."

"What does your brother have to do with it?!" The man leaned back in his chair and rubbed his temples.

"Justin," he continued, calming down, "Try to understand, that this new game of justice that you are playing now is a chance of a lifetime for another person. Peter Miller is a promising young scientist who worked hard to win this scholarship. The commission sets very high requirements for each participant. Even without this girl's ideas, he deserved his victory."

"So he won it after all?" Evans could hardly restrain himself from laughing. He imagined the contented and haughty face of this four-eyed man when he was presented with the grand prize. And Justin could not understand why this picture in his head pissed him off so much.

Mr. Pitcher remained silent, looking thoughtfully at the title page of the report folder.

"Where did you get it?"

"Professor Collins gave me two finalist entries to report on," Evans replied. 

"Hmm, Collins..." The man tapped his index finger on the table, pondering something. "Collins, you are saying..." He raised his eyes and looked at his grandson.

"The scholarship committee includes five people. Two, myself included, voted for the work of Peter Miller. The other two are for Hicks, the second candidate. Professor Collins' decision will be crucial. He's not a fool. So I advise you to think carefully about what you will include in your report. Since you are so hungry for justice."

Mr. Pitcher's face became relaxed again. Justin even thought that for a moment he noticed a slight smile on his grandfather's face.

The man moved his chair closer to the table and turned to his laptop, once again becoming the main man of the publishing house.

Evans understood. The conversation was over.

He did not achieve what he came here for, although he did not fully understand what exactly he wanted. But the confidential information his grandfather shared was valuable.

He will not be able to bring Miller to clean water directly. An overheard conversation between two girls is not an argument. Emily Hayes will not oppose this pointy-head man.

All that remains is to tip the scales towards Hicks, and for this it will be necessary to present such arguments that will satisfy the Professor.

Hell, so really will have to write this report?

Justin got up from his chair, took a folder from his grandfather's desk and silently walked to the door.

"Emily Hayes lost her publishing internship." It sounded in his back as Evans reached for the doorknob.

He turned and looked at his grandfather.

Mr. Pitcher looked up from the monitor. "She was in the lead at all qualifying stages, and no one doubted her victory. But her final essay was weaker than we expected."

"I see," Justin replied. His hand gripped the edge of a thick folder of Peter Miller's work. If a touch could burn, only ash would be left of the paper.

For several seconds, the grandson and grandfather were silently looking into each other's eyes.

"What have you got with this girl?" asked Arthur.

"Nothing."

Justin met the man's gaze.

"Nothing yet." He added, not knowing why.

The lingering silence in the room became overwhelming like quicksand. Justin felt a strange sensation envelop his body, but he did not move or look away, afraid to miss something important.

"Don't hurt her. This is my personal request."

Evans raised an eyebrow. A personal request from Arthur Pitcher? This he had not expected.

"This girl is the granddaughter of a person who is very close to me. Consider her family," said the man.

Justin said nothing, stood for a few seconds, and without saying anytying, just left the office.