The flashing red of the engine lights cast long, violent streaks across the wet asphalt of the hotel courtyard. Darra sat on the back of an ambulance bumper, the scratchy wool blanket pulled tight around her shoulders, her hands still trembling from the heat of the fourth floor.

Despite Aiden’s public backing, life inside the Ashworth corporate tower was an uphill battle. For the next week, Darra spent her days buried under massive stacks of financial reports, security audits, and legal briefs. She stayed late into the evening, fueled by cold coffee and sheer determination, refusing to let the corporate snobs think she was just a token charity case.

One evening, around 9:00 PM, the main office floor was completely deserted. The rhythmic click of Darra’s boots echoed across the marble tiles as she walked down the empty corridor toward the executive archive room to pull records from the previous fiscal year.

As she approached the heavy frosted glass doors of the archives, she noticed a narrow sliver of yellow light cutting across the dark hallway floor.

Someone was inside.

Darra slowed her steps, holding her breath. She crept silently toward the door, pressing her ear against the cool glass. Muffled voices drifted out into the corridor.

"...if the audit hits the federal prosecutor's desk by Monday, we're all finished," a tense, jittery voice hissed—unmistakably Arthur Vance. "Marcus was an idiot for getting caught, but if Ashworth and that nobody housekeeper dig any deeper into the subsidiary shell companies, our entire offshore portfolio goes down with him."

"Relax," a second, colder voice replied—someone Darra didn't recognize. "Vance, you're panicking. The physical hard drives are still locked in the secure mainframe room on the sub-level. All we need to do is upload the decryption wipe, erase the financial trails, and make it look like an external cyber attack."

Darra’s blood ran cold. Marcus hadn't acted alone. There was a second tier of conspirators still operating right inside the heart of the company.

She reached instinctively for her phone to call Aiden, but her fingers fumbled against her pocket.

Clack.