Who is Leila?

The Resume

Mark Donovan sat at his desk, staring out of the wide, floor-to-ceiling windows of his office as the sun dipped below the skyline. The evening light bathed the city in hues of gold and crimson, a fleeting moment of calm in a world that never seemed to stop moving. His office, perched high above the bustling city, was a sanctuary of sleek design—minimalist, modern, and immaculate, much like the man who occupied it. But despite the serene view, his mind was anything but at peace.

Techno was on the cusp of something revolutionary. Mark had spent years building his company from the ground up, but nothing compared to the project currently on his plate: a cutting-edge robotic technique designed to improve memory function, potentially providing a breakthrough treatment for Alzheimer's. It was personal for him. His father had been a victim of the disease, and watching him fade away had fueled Mark's ambition to create a solution that could prevent others from enduring the same pain.

But there was a problem—he needed someone exceptional to lead the project. Someone with not just technical expertise, but vision, creativity, and the ability to drive his team forward. And so far, no candidate had measured up.

With a tired sigh, Mark turned back to his computer, prepared to dive back into the endless pile of reports when a soft ping interrupted his thoughts. He frowned and glanced at his screen. An email had arrived. He clicked it open.

Subject: Application for Project Lead
From: Leila Simmons

A resume was attached.

"Leila Simmons...?" he murmured, not recognizing the name. But something about the crisp, straightforward email intrigued him.

He opened the attachment. Immediately, his eyes widened.

Her qualifications were impressive—bordering on unbelievable. A PhD in biomedical engineering, numerous patents in neural robotics, and leadership roles at some of the top tech firms in the world. She had everything he was looking for—and more. She had worked on memory augmentation systems, cognitive restoration frameworks, and even experimental Alzheimer's treatments that were eerily similar to the direction Techno was heading.

Mark leaned back in his chair, stunned. "This can't be real..."

His mind raced. Who was this woman? He hadn't seen her name come up in the industry before, which was strange considering her credentials. He reached for his phone and dialed his secretary.

"Sarah," he said as she picked up, his voice brisk with a mixture of excitement and disbelief, "Can you arrange an interview with a Leila Simmons? She just sent over a resume that... well, let's just say, I want to meet her as soon as possible."

"Of course, Mr. Donovan," Sarah replied, her tone efficient as ever. "When would you like to schedule it?"

"Tomorrow morning," Mark said, almost impulsively. "No, wait—tonight. If she's available. Tell her to come in right away."

"Tonight?" Sarah hesitated, clearly taken aback. "I can make the call, but it's already late. Are you sure—?"

"Yes," Mark interrupted, his mind made up. "If she's as good as her resume suggests, I don't want to wait."

"Understood. I'll let you know as soon as I hear back."

As he hung up, Mark stared at the glowing screen in front of him. The resume remained open, a tantalizing glimpse into what could be the future of Techno—and perhaps even the future of Alzheimer's treatment.

He drummed his fingers on the desk, unable to shake the strange sense of urgency that had settled over him. Who was Leila Simmons? How had she known exactly what he needed, at precisely the right time?

His gaze shifted back to the skyline, now darkening with the onset of night.

"Well, Leila," he muttered to himself, "let's see what you're really about."

A few moments later, Sarah's voice buzzed through the intercom. "Mr. Donovan?"

"Yes?"

"Leila Simmons has agreed to come in tonight. She'll be here within the hour."

Mark felt a surge of anticipation. He didn't know what he was expecting from this mysterious applicant, but something told him that this meeting would be anything but ordinary.