Secrecy

His shoulders sagged slightly, the defiance in his eyes dimming as he accepted the reality of his situation. "Very well," he said with a resigned sigh. "I'll set it up for you. You don't need to pay me; I'll do it free of charge."

"Oh, no. I will pay you. Use your brain, Sidorov. Why make it suspicious?"

He paused, considering my words. "You're right," he conceded, his voice tinged with a mix of respect and weariness. "I'll make sure everything appears aboveboard."

I nodded, satisfied. "Good."

Sidorov's fingers hovered over the keyboard momentarily before he reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a small, squishy stress ball. It was brightly colored and well-used.

'When I met him in my last life, he was already dying from all the stress.' I thought.

He squeezed the ball in his hand, then put it down and started typing on the keyboard.