Chapter 4: THE GHOSTS IN THE LEDGER
The firehouse was heavily guarded. Motorcycles lined the perimeter. Men and women who had survived war zones stood watch at the doors, their eyes scanning the dark streets. Inside, Emily sat at the massive wooden table. Raymond Hale sat across from her, looking ten years older. Dylan paced the floor.
“A ledger,” Raymond muttered. “Ten million dollars vanished from the corporate accounts before the feds froze Grant’s assets. I thought he moved it offshore.” “He didn’t,” Dylan said. “He hid the routing numbers. The master file. And whoever he was working for thinks Emily has it.”
Emily shook her head. “I don’t have anything! I handed everything over to the state labor board. All the files, all the complaints.” “Not everything,” a voice said from the doorway. It was Priya. The café manager had been brought to the firehouse for her own protection. Priya walked to the table, looking nervous. “Emily... do you remember the night you cleared out Mark Collins’s office?” Emily frowned. “Yes. I boxed up his personal things before he was officially terminated.” “There was a red flash drive,” Priya said quietly. “Mark used to wear it around his neck. He was terrified of losing it. When you packed his box, you threw it in with his old notebooks. But Mark never got that box. Corporate seized it.” Emily’s eyes widened. “I took that box home,” she whispered. Dylan stopped pacing. “You took the evidence box home?” “I didn’t know it was evidence! I thought it was just his junk. I put it in my garage. I was going to mail it to him so I wouldn't have to see his face.”
The room went dead silent. The syndicate didn’t just want revenge. They wanted the ten million dollars. And the key to that money was sitting in a cardboard box next to Emily’s old winter coats.
“We have to get it,” Dylan said. “Now.” “It’s too dangerous,” Raymond argued. “If they know where her mother lives, they know where Emily lives. They’ll be watching the house.” “Let them watch,” Dylan said. He looked at Emily. “Do you trust me?” She didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
They left in two heavily armored trucks. Dylan drove the lead vehicle. Emily sat in the passenger seat. The night was pitch black, the rain starting to fall in heavy sheets. “You shouldn’t be out here,” Dylan said, his eyes on the road. “It’s my house,” Emily replied. “It’s my job to protect you.” “And it’s my job to finish what I started.” Dylan glanced at her. For the first time all night, a small smile broke through his grim expression. “You are the most stubborn woman I’ve ever met.” “You haven’t met my mother,” Emily shot back.
They pulled into Emily’s street with their headlights off. It was quiet. Too quiet. Dylan put his hand up, signaling the second truck to hang back. “Stay here,” he ordered. “No,” Emily said, unbuckling her seatbelt. “I know exactly where the box is. I can find it in the dark. You can’t.” Dylan glared at her. She glared right back. He sighed. “Keep behind me.”
May you like
They slipped out of the truck and moved silently through the rain. Emily’s heart hammered in her chest. They reached the detached garage. Dylan slowly slid the side door open. No alarms. No movement. Emily stepped inside, using the faint moonlight to navigate the clutter. She found the cardboard box under a tarp. She reached inside, her fingers digging through old pens and notebooks. Then, she felt it. The cold, smooth plastic of a USB drive. “Got it,” she whispered.
Suddenly, the garage lights flooded on, blinding them both. “I was hoping you’d show up.” Emily spun around. Standing in the doorway were four men in dark suits. And standing in front of them was Grant Wexler.
