Chapter 4 - The Note
The two men remained in the office for another ten grueling minutes.
I listened to the rustle of heavy bond paper, the sharp click of Travis’s Montblanc fountain pen against contract pages, and the quiet tap of computer keys as they initiated the secondary authorization protocols on Travis’s private desktop terminal above my head.
Every second felt like an eternity. My legs were cramping violently, the muscles in my lower back screaming in pain, but fear locked me into complete immobility.
"I want the secondary confirmation fax sent to the Cayman custodian before midnight," Travis instructed as he walked Victor back toward the private elevator. "I'm heading down to the garage. Claire left the night logs on the reception desk."
"Are you sure your assistant is completely locked down on this?" Victor asked as their shoes moved toward the mahogany doors. "She looked nervous during the briefing this afternoon."
"Claire knows her place," Travis replied flatly. "She knows what happens to her career if she steps out of line."
The double doors opened and shut. The brass lock clicked from the outside.
Silence settled over the executive office once more.
I stayed under the desk, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird, unable to move my frozen limbs.
Three seconds later, the small administrative side door connecting Travis’s office to Claire’s secretarial bay creaked open.
A hand reached under the leather executive chair.
It was Claire.
She didn't speak. She grabbed my arm and pulled me out from beneath the dark walnut recess.
I collapsed onto the Persian rug, trembling so violently I couldn't stand up. The air in the room felt thick, heavy, and suffocating.
"Eliza, get up!" Claire whispered desperately, looking over her shoulder toward the corridor. "You have to leave before security does their 11:00 p.m. floor sweep!"
I looked up at her, my vision blurred with unshed tears of rage and betrayal. "He... he set me up, Claire. He took my job, he took my home, and now he’s trying to put me in prison..."
Claire reached into her coat pocket, pulled out a small, folded piece of white memo paper, and dropped it into my lap.
Across the front of the paper, written in frantic, hurried red ink, were three words:
CHECK YOUR POCKET.
I looked up at her in utter confusion. "What?"
"Check the inner pocket of your Apex uniform," Claire whispered, her voice shaking. "Right now."
I pulled open the long central zipper of my navy jumpsuit, my hands shaking so violently I could barely grasp the metal pull. I reached my gloved hand deep into the small, hidden interior chest pocket built into the lining of the work uniform.
May you like
My fingers brushed against a cold, crisp piece of folded paper.
I pulled it out.
