INTERFACE

MIKE POV

September 4, 2025 — 8:00 a.m.

Russian Hill, San Francisco

I usually set five alarms, each five minutes apart. It was a pointless precaution, but I’d been doing it for years. That morning, I didn’t need them. The first alarm was enough. I snapped awake, silenced the other four, and was out of bed in an instant. Seconds later, I was already in the shower.

A busy morning lay ahead.

With my hair still damp, I slipped into my usual suit—shirt, jacket, and trousers—then picked up the phone.

“Marisol?”

“Yes?” a gentle voice answered on the other end.

“What’s for breakfast?”

“Pan tostado, salted butter, marmalade, brioche, fruta fresca, bacon, omelette, zumo de naranja, y café...”

I didn’t get a word and had no idea what had just been listed.

“Bring everything.”

Silence filled the line for a moment. Better to play it safe.

“For just one person?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“I’ll be right there.”

When the housekeeper knocked on the door, the serving cart was so overloaded that it took both hands to push it. After arranging everything on the table, Marisol shot me a puzzled look before leaving.

I smiled and waited until the door closed behind Marisol.

Only then did I sit down.

I was far too hungry to care about manners. The omelet disappeared almost immediately, followed by the toast. Then came the bacon, the banana, and finally the fresh orange juice. At last, while sipping the hot coffee, I scrolled through my schedule on the tablet. For the first time in years, every meeting would be over before ten o’clock that morning. I should have been pleased. Instead, a tight knot formed in my stomach, twisting into a cramp almost at once.

I set the coffee cup down, trying to steady my breathing, but a wave of nausea sent me rushing to the bathroom. By the time I came back, my mouth tasted sour, and the veins at my temples throbbed beneath my skin.

I picked up the two envelopes that had arrived for Sam the previous day from the desk and slipped them into my bag.Before leaving, I paused in front of the mirror for a moment. My face looked paler than usual. Marisol was already waiting in the hallway to escort me to my meeting with Sam.

I left the coffee half-finished and walked out.

The office occupied the top floor of the villa. The moment I stepped inside, I recognized the same design philosophy that ran throughout the house. Around the long glass-and-steel desk, sleek minimalist furnishings stood alongside relics from another era—a grandfather clock and a bookcase dating back to the early twentieth century. Hidden among its dust-covered volumes were state-of-the-art surveillance cameras. I spotted them, not because they were visible, but because Sam had once asked for my opinion before having them installed.

While I looked around, Marisol crossed the room and pulled the heavy curtains wide open.

“Madre de Dios, it smells so stuffy in here...” she muttered in her usual mix of English and Spanish. “I keep telling them they should let some fresh air in, but nobody ever listens to me.”

Morning light flooded the office, making me squint.

Beyond the windows, the Pacific stretched to the horizon.

“El señor Sam has been muy stressed these past few days,” Marisol said before heading for the door. “Not eating, not sleeping...” She touched the small cross hanging from the chain around her neck before adding in Spanish, “Y cuando los padres sufren, los niños también lo sienten.”

“In a few hours, Sam will already be on the plane,” I replied. “We won’t have much time to work. In fact, we’d better get started right away.”

Marisol nodded.

“Voy a llamarlo.”

With that, Marisol slipped out, closing the door behind.

I set my bag on one of the chairs and walked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows. After unlocking one, I pushed it open. The mild air from the previous evening had vanished. Among the trees surrounding the villa, the first yellowing leaves caught my eye.

Overnight, summer had quietly given way to an unexpected chill.

A shiver ran down my spine, and I pulled my jacket tighter around me.

“Sleep well?” a voice asked from behind.

I turned and found Sam standing in the doorway. A T-shirt. Jeans. Dark circles beneath tired eyes, more pronounced than usual.

“Because I didn’t,” Sam added before I could answer.

Sam opened a small orange prescription bottle, shook a pill into one hand, and swallowed it. Anxiety had been a constant companion for years, and although things had gradually improved, experimental treatments developed by AuxGene Lab—one of the biomedical companies Sam personally funded—had become an increasingly regular part of life.

I reached into my bag, took out one of the two envelopes addressed to Sam, and handed it over.

“Sam, the official invitation arrived.”

Sam accepted the envelope.

“They still send these on paper?” came the amused question, followed by a quick clearing of the throat.

The envelope was opened and the letter scanned.

“The President of the United States requests the pleasure of Mr. Sam Altman’s company at a dinner hosted at the White House...”

“Well,” Sam said, looking up with a faint smile, “I’d say the big day has finally arrived.”

A glance at the watch.

“We’re running late. Let’s get to work—Washington won’t wait.”

Then came a playful wink.

Not even ten minutes into rehearsing the speech we’d prepared, voices in the hallway interrupted us.

I could make out only one of them.

Marisol.

“Señor Oliver, por favor...”

The office door swung open.

“Sam, we need to talk.”

Oliver stopped in the doorway.

“Now.”

The moment Oliver noticed me, every trace of warmth vanished from the face.

“Leave us alone.”

I started to get up.

“Mike, stay where you are,” Sam said, calm but firm.

“It’s okay, Sam. I need to grab a few documents I left in my room.”

“Which documents, Mike?”

“The ones from the lawyer. I left them on the desk.”

That envelope was already in my bag.

Sam gave a slight shake of the head.

“Not now. We’ll talk about Ann later.”With a small gesture, Sam indicated the chair. “Stay.”

I sat back down.

Sam turned to Oliver again.

“So... what’s so urgent, Olly? I’ve got a pretty packed morning.”

“Oh, you’ll find out what’s so urgent,” Oliver shot back, folding both arms across the chest. “And don’t call me Olly.”

“Go ahead.”

“Send Mike out first.”

Sam didn’t move.

“Right.” Oliver let out a bitter laugh. “I’d almost forgotten.”A beat. ”There are three people in this marriage.”

I stood and headed for the door.

“Mike, please don’t leave,” Sam said without taking eyes off Oliver. “There’s nothing here you don’t already know.”

I returned to my seat.

Oliver laid two sheets of paper on the desk.

One was badly creased, as though it had been crumpled into a ball.

The other bore the AuxGene Lab logo.

Sam picked up the first page.

One glance was enough.

Without a word, Sam folded it again and slipped it into a pocket.

Then came the second document.

“It’s an email from AuxGene Lab,” Oliver said. “A report on case #SM_888.”The voice began to tremble.“Dean told me the lab sent it by mistake.”Oliver stepped closer.“Why wasn’t I supposed to know about case #SM_888?”

Sam said nothing.

“Dean explained what #SM_888 is...” Oliver continued, barely able to keep the voice steady.A long pause.“Who are our son’s biological parents, Sam?”

Silence settled over the office.

The only sound was the faint rustle of paper in Sam’s hands.

After finishing the report, Sam folded it carefully and placed it back on the desk.

The orange prescription bottle appeared once again. Another pill. Another swallow.

Then, from somewhere down the hallway, a baby’s cry shattered the silence.

Within seconds, the crying escalated into desperate, piercing screams.

My gaze dropped to the envelope lying on the desk. I’d never seen Sam and Oliver argue before. There was nowhere in the world I’d rather have been less.

Marisol appeared briefly in the doorway.

Oliver gave a slight nod.

Marisol nodded back and disappeared.

Moments later, the crying stopped.

“Who are you?” Oliver asked quietly.

Sam slowly raised the gaze.

“Please, Sam.” Oliver’s voice faltered. “Tell me... who are you?”

“Olly...” Sam whispered.

“Don’t call me that!” Oliver pointed a finger across the desk. “The man I married would never have done something like this behind my back.”With eyes glistening, Oliver glanced sideways at me.“I thought I knew the person standing beside me.”

“It’s still me...” Sam said softly.

“No.” Oliver leaned forward, both hands planted firmly on the desk. “I don’t recognize you anymore.”

Sam reached for Oliver’s hand. Oliver pulled it away immediately.

“My suitcases are waiting by the front door,” Oliver said.“You decide whether they’re coming with us to Washington...”A pause. “...or leaving this house.”

The color drained from Sam’s face.

“Come with me, Olly.”

Oliver didn’t answer. Instead, the same question came again.

“Who are our son’s biological parents?”

Both turned toward me.

Oliver’s question still hung in the air.

Then my phone vibrated.

I slipped it out of my jacket pocket and glanced at the screen.

A new email.

<< From: Laura Bennett

Subject: Urgent Request to Speak with Mr. Altman

Good morning,

I urgently need to speak with Mr. Altman. I’ve tried contacting him several times without success. Given the urgency of the matter, I would appreciate the opportunity to arrange a video call as soon as possible.

I look forward to your reply.

LB — Director of Strategic Communications. >>

I had no idea who Laura Bennett was. Nor how she had gotten hold of my personal email address. But if reaching Sam was that urgent, it had to be connected to the trip to Washington. And I couldn’t put it off any longer. I had to tell Sam what I’d been keeping inside for far too long.

For days, I’d postponed that conversation, convincing myself there would always be a better moment — preferably the very last one, maybe just minutes before boarding the private jet.

The truth was something else. I didn’t have the courage to look Sam in the eye.

🎧 Rachmaninov Concerto No.2, Op.18 | Sviatoslav Richter