Exhausted after an eighteen-hour shift at Park Maritime Defense in post-war Boston, twenty-four-year-old custodian Clara Finch fell asleep in the executive chair of reclusive billionaire industrial...
The following afternoon, I returned briefly to Park Maritime Defense. The ground-floor custodian room, where I’d spent so many weary hours, smelled of bleach and damp pine oil, a scent that once meant honest work and now felt like a shroud. I needed to collect my personal belongings and hand over my shift keys.
I opened my narrow steel locker. From behind my winter coat, a heavy brown paper package tumbled out, striking the concrete floor with a loud thud that echoed in the small, empty room.
I knelt down, my fingers fumbling with the string securing the package. As I unrolled the paper, my breath caught in my throat. Inside were three blueprint rolls, thick and crisp, each stamped with red Federal Defense Procurement seals. The detailed schematics showed an experimental sonar guidance system, Adrian’s firm’s most cutting-edge naval technology.
Before I could even process what I was holding, the basement door creaked open. Julian stepped into the dim hallway, flipping an unlit cigarette between his knuckles. A cold smile spread across his face.
“You should be grateful, Clara,” he said, his voice too casual. “I’ve provided you with an insurance policy.”
My heart hammered against my ribs. I knew, with a sickening certainty, what he meant.
“I used my stolen master key,” Julian explained, taking a drag from the unlit cigarette. “Placed those blueprints in your locker two hours ago.”
He gestured vaguely at the rolled papers in my hands.
“Now, you have a choice.”
My hands clenched, crushing the blueprints slightly.
“You’re going to use your new position as Adrian’s private attendant,” he continued, his eyes glinting. “You’re going to steal the master key combination to Adrian’s personal wall safe.”
He took a step closer, the smell of stale tobacco clinging to him.
“Ten thousand dollars in cash, Clara. By Friday night.”
His voice hardened, each word a hammer blow.
“My harbor loan sharks aren’t patient.”
He watched my face, a cruel satisfaction in his eyes.
“And if I go down, Clara, I promise you,” Julian said, his voice dropping to a low, venomous whisper. “I will make sure your forged identity papers are delivered straight to the federal auditor’s desk.”
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