Chapter 11: The Framed Auditor

The phone rang just after midnight, a number I didn’t recognize. I hesitated, then answered.

“Coyle,” a gruff voice growled. “Barrett Soria wants a word.”

My heart quickened. It had worked. Soria knew.

But then the voice continued, “He says you stole $150,000 from him. Says Marcus Delancy proved it.”

A cold dread washed over me. Marcus. He’d counter-attacked. He’d flipped the narrative.

“That’s a lie,” I said, my voice steady despite the tremor in my hands. “Marcus is the thief.”

“Soria’s got bank transfer records,” the voice shot back. “Looks like you diverted the funds, old man. You got two hours to give him his money back. Or you die.”

The line went dead. Marcus hadn’t just denied my accusations; he’d fabricated evidence, turning Soria’s wrath onto me. He was framing me as the mastermind.

I looked at Elena, who had heard my end of the conversation. Her face was ashen.

“He’s blaming me,” I stated, grabbing my jacket. “He’s managed to spin it that I’m the one who stole Soria’s money and tried to pin it on him.”

“But… the cipher book,” Elena protested. “The proof.”

“He’s using his charm, his silver tongue. And probably a forged bank statement to back it up,” I surmised, my mind racing. “Soria just wants his money back. He doesn’t care whose blood he gets it from.”

I had two hours. Two hours to clear my name before Soria’s enforcers came for me.

“Where are you going?” Elena asked, her voice tight with panic.

“To find Soria,” I said, grabbing the rugged laptop where I’d meticulously uploaded all my audit data and Marcus’s decoded cipher. “I have to show him the truth. Live.”

I kissed Chloe goodbye in the darkened basement, making a promise I hoped I could keep. “Stay safe, sweetie. I’ll be back.”

Driving through the deserted streets, I felt a knot of fear in my stomach. I was walking into the lion’s den, unarmed, with only my numbers for protection.

A black van, without any identifying marks, cut me off suddenly. Tires screeched.

Two massive figures jumped out. Before I could react, the driver’s side door was yanked open.

Strong hands dragged me out of my vehicle, my laptop case clutched tight. My head slammed against the door frame. Stars exploded behind my eyes.

“Soria’s waiting,” a voice grunted, as I was roughly shoved into the back of the van. The door slammed shut, plunging me into darkness.

I was being taken to Barrett Soria’s subterranean holding room. The clock was ticking.