It was on days like this that the doubt crept into Grayson’s heart. Festering, clinging to the walls like grime.

Grayson sat in a folding chair pulled up next to the window of his second-floor office. He’d positioned himself sideways so that his arm dangled out the window, preventing most of the smoke from the lit cigarette in his fingers from entering the interior. The last time the landlord had caught him smoking inside, he’d threatened to cancel Grayson’s lease, although at this point Grayson wondered if that wouldn’t be a mercy.

He took another drag, then blew the smoke out the window from the side of his mouth. Remember why you got into this, he thought, trying to prevent his thoughts from spiraling. A smile spread across his face as he reminded himself.

Ever since he was young, Grayson had possessed the exceptional ability to know the path forward from any situation. He always knew the next move, the play, what to do. He could always see what was needed and how to do it. It wasn’t always immediate, but it always came to him eventually.

And that was why he’d become a private investigator. He’d dreamed of challenge and risk, pitting his wits and intuition against any complex case that walked through his door. He wanted to have to think fast with his back against the wall. To be tested and tried! To be pushed to his limits by the worst the world could throw at him!

But after four years of working as a PI, the reality of his vocation was undeniable. Sure, he’d gotten a handful of cases that he’d enjoyed, but they were the rare exception. What he spent the vast majority of his time doing was boring and hardly profitable.

Grayson spent most days serving papers for divorce proceedings, or car accident cases, or medical malpractice lawsuits. And if he wasn’t doing that, he was surveilling suspected worker’s compensation fraudsters. Insurance companies would pay not-so-good money for video of the purportedly disabled playing basketball in the park.

It was tedious, mind-numbing work, it didn’t pay enough, and the hours were horrendous. But the worst thing about it, what offended Grayson the most, was there was no sport in it. He couldn’t flex his abilities, couldn’t engage with the work. There was no challenge. He always won. He felt like he was rotting away from the inside. These were the thoughts that his doubt fed on.

That intuition you’re so proud of, always knowing what to do, and yet it brought you to this, brought you here… maybe it’s not as accurate as you supposed.

Grayson buried his face in his hand and sighed deeply. But just as quickly, he rallied. Come on now, it’s not as bad as all that, he thought. There’s been a couple of thrills here and there. And best of all, I’ve helped people. That’s gotta count for something.

Thinking back, Grayson remembered the clients he’d had and smiled. Not the insurance companies or the law firms, the real clients, the desperate, distraught people who had walked through his door. He’d certainly got results for them. He’d worked some magic on those cases, and every one of those clients had left happy. That was a fact that even the creeping doubt in his heart couldn’t argue with.

An irritated smirk spread across his face as a thought occurred to him: Maybe my great intuition only works for other people. Maybe I can solve everyone else’s problems but not my own. Wouldn’t that be ironic.

Feeling the encroaching heat on his fingers, Grayson flicked the spent butt into the parking lot below. He swiveled toward his desk, which contained a stack of papers needing to be served, and grabbed the pack of cigarettes on the side. But as he was pulling another out, his phone rang. Grayson hesitated, then with a shake of his head and a roll of his eyes, he grabbed the phone.

“Witham Investigations,” he answered.

“Umm… hello…” a woman’s voice said.

Not a paralegal or insurance company stooge, Grayson thought. He sat up.

“Hello, how can I help you, miss?” he said.

“…I’m not really sure,” she replied. “But I need help… I think. Yes, I need help because I’m not sure what to do. Something’s happened, and I might be in trouble, but it’s complicated.”

“Complicated?” Grayson repeated, trying to hide his enthusiasm. “That just so happens to be my specialty. Would you be able to come to my office? Complicated explanations are best done in person, and I’m sure we can figure something out for you.”

“That’s wonderful,” the woman said, noticeably perking up. “I’m outside your building right now.”

“Come on up then,” Grayson said.

The woman happily agreed and hung up.

A smile spread across Grayson’s face as he rose and headed over to his desk. Complicated trouble, he thought. I take it all back; my intuition is right on the money. This is exactly where I’m supposed to be.