I took the quiet archivist position at Harland Capital in Denver hoping my past would never find me.
I watched Bianca’s car exit the parking garage from my basement window, her tail lights disappearing into the Denver night. My heart was still pounding from the adrenaline of witnessing her brazen act. The duplicate audit binder felt heavy in my hands.
This was it. The proof.
I knew I couldn’t risk leaving it here. I had to get it to Cade, or to someone who could understand its significance.
I wrapped the binder in an old canvas bag I kept in my desk, making it look like a gym bag. Then, I headed for the underground executive garage, using my temporary keycard access to the secure stairwell.
The garage was a concrete cavern, quiet and mostly empty. My footsteps echoed as I made my way towards my sedan, parked in a far corner. The air was colder down here, with a metallic tang.
As I reached my car, a pair of headlights suddenly flared to life. A large, black SUV, previously unseen, roared to life from a shadowed alcove. It sped forward, cutting across the lane and blocking my exit.
My breath caught in my throat. I froze, the canvas bag clutched tightly against my chest.
The driver’s side door of the SUV opened. A large man, burly and dressed in dark clothing, stepped out. He had a shaved head and a grim, unsmiling face. My mind flashed to Bianca’s arrogance, her belief in her total control. This was her.
He walked towards me, his gait slow and deliberate. “The folder,” he said, his voice a low growl that resonated in the silent garage. “Hand it over.”
My grip on the bag tightened. He knew. Bianca knew. She hadn’t just left the building; she had set a trap.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I stammered, trying to sound innocent, but my voice wavered.
He let out a humorless chuckle. “Don’t play games, lady. We saw you.” He gestured vaguely upwards, and I realized there must be hidden cameras, or he had been watching the security feeds.
He took another step, his shadow falling over me. His eyes, devoid of any warmth, fixed on the canvas bag. “The audit files. Give them to me, or this gets messy.”
My heart pounded a frantic rhythm. Messy. The word hung in the air, a clear threat. I couldn’t give him the files. Not now, not after everything.
Without thinking, I spun around, fumbling for my car keys. My hand shook as I jabbed the remote, hearing the satisfying *click* of my sedan unlocking.
“No!” he roared, lunging forward.
I bolted, yanking open my driver’s side door, throwing myself into the seat. He was right behind me, his hand grasping at the edge of the door, trying to yank it open.
But I was faster. I slammed the door shut, locking it just as his knuckles scraped against the window. His face, contorted in anger, pressed against the glass.
I shoved the key into the ignition, twisting it hard. The engine roared to life. He pounded on the window, yelling something I couldn’t hear over the engine’s whine.
I floored the accelerator, the tires squealing as my sedan shot backward, then swerved around the SUV. The security gate at the garage exit was still open, the attendant nowhere in sight. I burst through it, into the swirling, blinding chaos of a heavy mountain blizzard that had descended upon Denver.
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