I always wanted to walk up that attractive vintage staircase. The dark, smooth aged wood and stained-glass window at the landing were hypnotic to look at. I longed to run my fingers over the colorful glass images and see the sunlight make that design glow. But the house belonged to a friend of my mom, and she would not allow me or any other visitor get anywhere near those carpeted steps leading upward. That perfectly carved banister with gargoyle accents was one of the most attractive works of art I had ever seen, from across the room of course. How ironic that some years later the house would be sold after the friend had passed and I would become a personal secretary to the peculiar individual who moved in. This is the strange tale of my employer, my observations of his lifestyle and the most terrifying year of my life.