We didn’t run immediately. Claire moved with the kind of calm that keeps you from becoming obvious.
We exited through a side door into a narrow service alley.
My hands were shaking. My breath came short.
“What is happening?” I whispered.
Claire’s jaw tightened. “We were made.”
Walter’s head turned slightly, listening.
Footsteps, somewhere behind us.
Not frantic. Controlled.
That scared me more.
“Walk,” Claire ordered softly. “Don’t sprint unless we have to.”
We walked fast, turning corners, cutting through a parking lot, weaving behind a row of delivery trucks.
Then a black SUV rolled slowly into view at the far end of the street—too slow, too deliberate.
Two men stepped out.
No yelling. No weapons. No drama.
Just men who moved like they were used to getting what they wanted.
Claire swore under her breath. “Okay,” she said. “Now we run.”
We ran.
Walter tried to keep up, but his breathing sounded rough. I glanced back and saw his face tighten with pain.
“Walter—”
“Keep going,” he forced out. “Don’t stop for me.”
“We’re not leaving you,” I snapped, surprising myself.
Claire cut into a narrow passage between buildings. “This way!”
We darted through, the city turning into a maze.
At the other end, we merged into a busy sidewalk, blending into commuters.
Claire slowed, then slowed more, forcing us to look normal.
My heart hammered so hard I thought strangers could hear it.
We passed a police car.
The men behind us stopped following openly.
For a moment, it felt like we’d escaped.
For a moment.
The Office. The Files. The Twist.
Claire’s “office” was a workspace inside an older building downtown—shared hallways, keypad entry, security camera in the lobby.
She got us inside quickly.
Walter sank into a chair, breathing hard, eyes closed.
Claire pulled out a laptop—then shook her head.
“No,” she muttered. “Not this.”
She opened a metal case from her bag and took out a small device that looked like it belonged in a lab.
“Air-gapped,” she said. “No wireless capability. No network drivers. It’s dumb on purpose.”
She plugged in the USB.
The screen lit up with folders.
And then Claire went still.
“Holy—” She stopped herself, but her face changed. The journalist mask cracked for a second, revealing pure shock.
“What?” I whispered.
Claire scrolled. Her eyes moved fast.
“Contracts.” Click.
“Account transfers.” Click.
“Internal emails.” Click.
She looked up at me, and her voice went tight.
“Emily… this isn’t just fraud. This is a map. Names. Dates. Structured movement of funds. Enough to bury people.”
Walter opened his eyes, exhausted but focused. “Michael wasn’t guessing,” he said. “He had them.”
My throat burned. “So what do we do?”
Claire didn’t answer right away.
Instead, she said quietly, “We loop in federal investigators. Carefully. Not a local tip line. Not someone who can be leaned on.”
I nodded, dizzy.
Walter shifted and looked at me with something like apology.
“Emily,” he said, “there’s one more thing.”
My stomach sank. “What?”
Walter’s voice lowered. “Michael didn’t give me the drive.”
I froze. “What?”
Claire’s eyes narrowed. “Then who did?”
Walter swallowed.
“Michael’s brother,” he said. “Daniel.”
My mouth went dry.
Michael had a younger brother I’d met only a handful of times. Quiet. Private. The kind of person Michael said “didn’t like attention.”
“Daniel gave it to me after the funeral,” Walter continued. “He said Michael had a contingency plan. Daniel told me to watch you. To protect you. And to wait until the moment they made a move.”
Claire exhaled slowly. “So Daniel’s been in this longer than we thought.”
Before I could ask anything, a sound pierced the building.
A loud, blaring alarm.
The fire alarm.
Claire’s eyes snapped to the door.
“No,” she whispered. “That’s not a coincidence.”
Walter’s face tightened. “They found us.”
Claire grabbed her case. “Stairs. Now.”
We ran to the stairwell.
People were already filing down, annoyed, confused, some laughing like it was a drill.
Claire kept her hand on my elbow, steering me through the crowd.
At the bottom, we pushed out into the street—
And across the road, a black sedan was idling at the curb like it had been waiting.
The driver’s window rolled down.
“Emily,” a man called, urgent but controlled. “Get in. Now. No time.”
I knew that voice.
My lungs stopped working.
“Daniel?” I whispered.
He looked older than I remembered. More tired. Eyes scanning the street like he was counting threats.
Walter exhaled, relief breaking through his pain.
“You made it,” Walter murmured.
Daniel’s gaze flicked to Walter. “I said I would.”
Claire hesitated, suspicious. “How do we know you’re not part of them?”
Daniel didn’t even look offended. He simply said, “Because if I was, Emily wouldn’t still be alive.”
Then he held up his phone.
On the screen was a message thread—names, timestamps, an address, and one sentence that made my stomach drop:
They triggered the alarm. Two minutes out. Move.
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