Then, I heard it.
The sharp, aggressive click-clack of Chloe’s Louboutin heels approaching down the hallway.
They weren’t passing by. They were stopping right outside her office door.
The brass doorknob began to turn.
My heart slammed against my ribs. I had less than a second.
I shoved the red binder perfectly into its original position, snapped the brass padlock shut, and threw myself toward the massive potted Ficus tree near the corner of the room, dropping into a crouch just as the heavy office door swung open.
“I don’t care what the bank says, delay them!” Chloe’s voice was a frantic hiss as she swept into the room, holding her diamond-encrusted cell phone to her ear. “The Vance deal gets inked at two o'clock tomorrow afternoon. The moment the wire hits our accounts, you pay off the Apex Manufacturing debt. Not a second before!”
I pressed my back against the wall, making myself as small as possible behind the dense foliage of the plant. If she walked around to the front of her desk, she would see me instantly. The penalty for being caught wouldn't just be getting fired—it would mean my cover was blown before I could secure the physical evidence my father needed to legally terminate the acquisition without penalties.
Chloe paced near the doorway. “No, you listen to me,” she snapped into the phone. “The new eye cream line is a disaster. I saw the emails about the chemical burns from the test groups. Have Zara wipe those emails from the server tonight. If Arthur Vance’s due diligence team finds out I’m using industrial filler, I go to prison, and you go down with me. Just stall them!”
She ended the call violently, slamming the phone down on her desk. She stood there for a long moment, breathing heavily. From my hiding spot, I watched her manicured hands grip the edge of the glass desk until her knuckles turned white.
Suddenly, her office phone rang, making us both jump.
She picked it up. “What? I’m busy.” A pause. “Fine, tell the catering director I’ll be right down.”
She marched out of the office, slamming the door behind her.
I let out a breath I felt like I had been holding for an hour. My legs were shaking as I stood up. I had the pictures of the binder on my burner phone, but Chloe’s phone call had just escalated the situation from severe financial fraud to criminal negligence. Chemical burns. She was willing to permanently scar women to maintain her billionaire lifestyle.
And she mentioned emails on the server. The physical binder was good, but raw server data proving she ordered the deletion of injury reports was the holy grail. I needed into the main server room on the ground floor.
I waited two minutes, slipped out of the office, and hurried down the back stairwell.
The ground floor was a warzone of event preparation. The warehouse space had been cleared. Hundreds of crystal ghost chairs were being aligned in perfect rows facing a massive, glittering stage equipped with digital screens displaying the Vance Retail and Aura Beauty logos locked together. Caterers were carrying trays of champagne flutes, and lighting technicians were testing blinding white spotlights.
“Harper!”
I froze. Zara was marching toward me through the chaos, holding a clipboard like a weapon. Leo was trailing behind her, carrying a massive arrangement of white orchids.
“Where have you been?” Zara demanded, her eyes scanning the red mark still visible on my left cheek. She smiled, clearly enjoying the evidence of my humiliation. “I told you to set up the press chairs.”
“I was fetching the seating chart from the logistics office,” I lied smoothly, keeping my voice properly submissive.
“Well, you’re on trash duty now,” Zara sneered, shoving a massive roll of black garbage bags into my chest. “You’re banned from the VIP zones. You are to stay on the perimeter near the loading dock. If I see you anywhere near the stage when the Vance executives arrive tomorrow, I will have security throw you out into the street physically. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Zara,” I said, looking down.
“Good. Know your place,” Leo added, laughing as they walked away toward the stage.
I took the garbage bags and walked toward the back of the warehouse. The loading dock area was quiet, shielded from the main floor by heavy velvet curtains. More importantly, it was exactly where the IT and server control room was located.
The door to the server room required a high-level keycard. I didn't have one. But earlier in the week, I had noticed that the overnight cleaning crew used a master code to enter the room to empty the bins, writing the sequence on a piece of masking tape hidden under the keypad flap.
I checked over my shoulder. The loading dock was empty. I flipped the small plastic cover, tapped in the four-digit code, and held my breath. The light turned green.
I slipped inside and locked the door behind me.
The server room was freezing, filled with the loud, rhythmic humming of towering black computer racks. I moved to the main terminal in the corner. It was password protected.
I pulled out my encrypted Vance satellite phone. This was why my father’s security team was the best in the world. I plugged a small USB adapter from my phone into the terminal.
“Come on, Marcus, work your magic,” I muttered to myself, tapping a specific override sequence I had been taught.