MasukBy 4:00 PM, the storm outside had returned with a vengeance, rattling the thick glass windows of the executive suite with a steady, aggressive vibration.Wren sat behind his terminal, his eyes tracking the minutes blinking away on his screen. 4:02. 4:03. In less than an hour, detective Silas Reyes would call with the definitive name behind the Cayman shell account. Wren's hand dropped into his laptop bag, his fingers lightly brushing the edge of his notepad. He had already memorized the contents of the Voss memo. Serena thought her family's money had bought permanent silence, but the digital ghost of her crime was currently sitting right on the top floor of the Ashford tower.The sharp, echoing click of stilettos announced her arrival before the elevator doors even finished sliding open.Serena Voss walked onto the floor, her cream designer trench coat damp from the rain, her manicured fingers tightly clutching a fresh set of legal addendums. Her sharp, perfectly painted eyes scanned
By 1:30 PM, the digital clock on Wren's terminal felt like a countdown timer.Wren sat behind his glass desk, his eyes staring at the spreadsheet margins, though his mind was entirely elsewhere. Every time the elevator doors chimed, his shoulders went rigid. He knew that out in the city, detective Silas Reyes was actively tracing the IP registry for that offshore Cayman account. If Silas traced it back to this building, the fallout would be instant—and Corin would immediately pull that fraud file out of his gray suit jacket to destroy Wren's life.Wren reached down, his fingers brushing against his briefcase. He needed to know exactly what else Mr. Kang had hidden on that silver flash drive before the 5:00 PM deadline hit.With Killian locked in a private conference call with the European legal teams, the lobby was completely empty. Wren quickly slid the silver drive into his terminal's side port, his heart doing a frantic thud against his ribs as the green ACCESS GRANTED wheel spun o
The boardroom at 8:00 AM smelled of fresh printing toner, ozone, and cold water.Wren stood exactly three paces behind Killian's right shoulder, his fingers tightly laced behind his back. He had spent the remaining hours of the night scrubbing the coffee stains off his desk and verifying the final Cayman account numbers, but his mind was stuck on the white envelope he'd hidden deep inside his briefcase. He had left the fifty-thousand-dollar bribe locked in his terminal drawer upstairs. Taking it would have made him an accomplice; leaving it on the desk would have triggered a murder investigation before they were ready.Across the granite table, Corin sat in his light gray suit, completely immaculate. The grease from the breaker room was entirely gone, his nails manicured, and his easygoing brotherly smile perfectly back in place. But every time his eyes drifted toward Wren, the warmth in his face died, replaced by a sharp, mocking amusement.Baron Ashford sat at the head of the table,
The sharp, heavy echo of a cough cut through the pitch-black room.Wren didn't move. He kept his hands flat against Killian's forearms, feeling the deep tremors running through the billionaire's muscles slowly quiet down. The physical contact was working, washing the white-hot pain out of Killian's skull, but neither of them dared to break the silence.Across the marble floor, a silhouette was dragging itself up onto its knees in the pale gray moonlight. Corin winced, rubbing his ribs where Killian's tackle had landed. His light sleeves were smeared with black grease from the electrical breakers downstairs. His eyes darted quickly toward the dark corner where his metal crowbar had skittered away, out of sight.Killian's head snapped toward the sound. Without his glasses, his flat brown eyes were wide and unfocused in the shadows. He instinctively stepped in front of Wren, shielding him."Who is that?" Killian demanded, his voice a freezing, lethal baritone. "Identify yourself."Corin l
The gray moonlight cut through the rain-slick windows, casting long, skeletal shadows across the floor. Wren didn't take his eyes off the metal crowbar in Corin's grease-stained hand. His heart was slamming against his ribs, but he forced his legs to remain anchored to the floor. If he ran, he was admitting he had the drive. If he screamed, the thick acoustic glass of the executive suite would just swallow the sound."I don't know what flash drive you're talking about, Director Corin," Wren said, his voice flat, sounding much steadier than he actually felt.Corin let out a short, breathy laugh that had none of his usual warmth. He stepped deeper into the dark lobby, his leather shoes crunching softly on the stray bits of dried coffee sediment from the morning's spill. "Don't play stupid with me, Wren. Kang was a paranoid coward, but he wasn't dumb. He knew I'd have him handled the second he botched the Whitmore file, so he left himself an insurance policy. Security reviewed the mornin
Byba quarter to midnight, the executive floor felt completely hollow. The central heating had shut off an hour ago, leaving the air up on the top floor crisp and sharp. The only sound in the entire suite was the low, electric hum of Wren's computer monitor.Wren sat hunched over his desk, his tie loose and his navy suit jacket draped over the back of his chair. His fingers moved quickly across the keyboard as he tracked the digital footprints of the dummy Cayman accounts. Out in the hallway, his leather briefcase rested against a wall. The silver flash drive hidden inside it was a ticking time bomb. Wren couldn't risk plugging it in at the office—not with the network logging every active port. He had to do this the hard way, manually mapping out the money trail so Killian would have a clean, legally binding file by morning.The heavy door to the private office swung open.Killian walked out into the dim lobby carrying two porcelain mugs. The rich, bitter scent of fresh espresso cut t







