Mr. Jackson turned around and looked at his assistant. She stood there nervously, a tablet in hand, waiting for him to speak.

"Oh, did you need something?" He asked her.

"No, I thought I was to be here once you were back. That was..."

"Oh, no, I don't need you today. I understand you have things to coordinate with the rest of the staff, so I'll leave you to it. Off you go."

She quickly left the room, her face neutral but he could tell she was scared of him.

He didn't blame her. He had of the whispers, that his body was that of an interviewee, or someone at his company, or bought in the black market. In truth, this body was purely random, a woman brain-dead from a legitimate accident.

While he'd have to figure how to dispel those rumors, it could wait at least a day. He turned back around, looking over his desk in his office, something he never expected to see again. He had just gotten it the way he always wanted it, and not just it, the whole mansion. It had taken decades to get to this point, and now it seems that he had decades more to enjoy it.