LOGINColleenI had always believed fear was useful. It slowed reckless people down. It forced patience. But sitting alone in my apartment with the lights dimmed, and the city noise muted behind thick glass, I understood the moment fear stopped being a tool and started becoming a cage. And I refused to live in one.The files I had uncovered refused to leave my mind. There were faces without names. Companies erased from history and decisions made in rooms I had grown up thinking were built for protection, not sacrifice. The more I thought about it, the clearer it became that waiting for a perfect moment was just another way of choosing silence.And so I stood by the window, the phone heavy in my hand, as Savannah’s contact glowed on the screen. I didn’t want to call her. Calls could be traced, misread, overheard. Words lingered too long when spoken. What I needed was something quieter. Something deniable.Savannah didn’t need rescuing. That much I knew. She had survived her father’s board, M
ColleenThere was a certain stillness that came with late nights in my family’s offices. It was never the peaceful kind, it was more like the hush you hear right before something collapses. The building always felt heavier after midnight, as if the walls themselves remembered every deal that had been whispered around them. That was when I found it.I hadn’t been looking for anything dramatic. At least, that was what I told myself. I was just following threads and contracts that didn’t quite line up, partnership dissolutions that happened too cleanly, and companies that vanished overnight without litigation or noise. In our world, silence usually meant money had changed hands in a way no one wanted recorded.And so I sat alone in one of the conference rooms with my sleeves rolled up, my tie discarded on the table, and the glow of my laptop casting harsh shadows across old leather chairs. The files Marcus Hale had hinted at were buried deep, labeled in a way only someone inside the fami
JulianI had always known my father’s world wasn’t clean. You don’t grow up in the kind of rooms I did, where conversations stopped when you enter, and without learning early that honesty is selective. Still, there was a difference between suspecting rot and finally seeing how far it spread. The realization didn’t come all at once. It came the way these things always did, slow and methodical, almost boring.I was seated in Evan’s study late one night, as both of us pretended this was just another routine review of legacy accounts. The lights were low and the city outside hummed with indifference. Evan sat across from me, quiet for once, scrolling through transaction logs he’d pulled from an offshore subsidiary we barely acknowledged in public and then he began.“These entities,” he said finally, tapping the screen. “They keep showing up. Different names. Different jurisdictions. But the movement pattern is the same.”I leaned forward. “Same clearing channels?”He nodded. “Same legal f
SavannahI learned quickly that silence could be louder than lies. After Melordy tightened her grip, the air around me shifted as well. Not in a dramatic way, but in subtler movements. Our meetings lasted longer and her questions arrived dressed as concern. Every pause felt measured, like she was watching what I did when no one else was speaking.So I stopped reacting. Instead, I started choosing. I gave her truths that were harmless on their own. Facts that didn’t lead anywhere. Details she already knew, reshaped just enough to look like cooperation instead of surrender. It was a delicate balance, too much honesty and I’d expose Clint; too much resistance and I’d become a liability.I needed to stay useful. And so when we sat across from each other one afternoon in a quiet conference room overlooking the city. The windows were tall, the view expensive, the kind meant to distract you into forgetting where you were, but Melordy didn’t look at the skyline. Her attention stayed on me.“Y
MelordyThe moment Clint made that call, I knew two things for certain. First, he was no longer thinking defensively. He was planning forward, which meant desperation had finally tipped into resolve. Second, he was still hoping to outrun consequences instead of shaping them. That was the mistake people like him always made in the end. They believed motion was the same thing as control. But it wasn’t.I listened to the recording again, not because I needed clarity, but because repetition had a way of revealing intention. His voice had been calm, focused and stripped of the hesitation that used to betray him. He wasn’t running anymore. He was hunting for an exit.And so I closed the file and stood, already knowing where this needed to go next. The agent didn’t expect me. They never did.He was seated in a quiet government office two hours later, and the moment he saw me, he stiffened, his hand twitching toward the edge of the desk like it might ground him.“Relax,” I said lightly, shutt
ClintThe safe house stopped feeling safe the moment I realized I’d stayed too long. I know what you’re thinking, but I wasn’t paranoid. Paranoia was loud and frantic. What I was feeling was quieter than that. It was like a pressure behind the eyes. Places like this were never meant to hold you for more than a few weeks. Any longer, and the people around might start collecting your habits.And so I had to move. I packed light again, there were no personal items, or second thoughts. My choice was made for me the moment I decided to be on the run. And so I wiped down the surfaces I’d barely touched, erased the small traces of comfort I’d allowed myself and headed outside.The city outside looked unchanged when I stepped out. Traffic moved as ever. Some sirens echoed somewhere distant and I kept my head down. Life went on the way it always did, indifferent and relentless.I didn’t take my usual route this time. I moved through some back streets and service roads, letting instinct handle







