My business partner Maya ordered $4,850 worth of vintage cognac and Wagyu steaks at an exclusive Buckhead restaurant, fully expecting me to settle the syndicate front's tab like I always did.
Rain was pouring heavily over Buckhead as I slipped out of Marcel’s side kitchen entrance into the dark service alley. The cool night air hit my face, washing away the lingering smell of expensive steak, cognac, and desperation. The sound of distant sirens was almost drowned out by the drumming rain.
Kendra Washington was waiting by her dark blue sedan, the engine idling quietly, its headlights cutting through the sheets of rain. The red glow of the taillights reflected off the wet asphalt.
I walked up to her vehicle, reached under the rear passenger wheel well, and detached a small black magnetic container. It was cold and slick with water. I opened it and pulled out an encrypted silver USB drive containing the raw, unredacted corporate ledgers detailing every crooked politician paid off by DuBose Enterprises over the last decade.
“You kept it under my car?” Kendra asked, rolling down her window just enough to speak. Her breath plumed in the cold air.
“If Marcus’s crew searched me outside the restaurant, they would have found it on my person,” I said, sliding the drive into my coat pocket. The metal was surprisingly heavy. “They never thought to check the car of the reporter who was supposedly just covering a city council grant story.”
“Where are you going now, Darius?” Kendra asked, looking at me with genuine concern, her eyes visible in the dim light. “Maya is in handcuffs, but Marcus is still out there. And he knows you’re involved now.”
“I have a few hours before the news cycle hits the morning network broadcasts,” I said, turning up my coat collar against the driving rain. “I need to make sure the paper trail stays permanent. And I need to disappear.”
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