Come on. Come on, where is it?
And then, I saw it.
The original Oakridge Athletics Foundation transfer form. The thick, slightly textured federal banking paper. The official red stamp of the bank. And there, at the bottom, was the blue ink signature.
David Evans.
I held it up to the light of my phone. I had seen my father’s signature on a thousand report cards and permission slips. He had a slight tremor in his right hand from a construction accident twenty years ago. His loops were never perfect. His lines always had a tiny, microscopic stutter.
This signature was flawless. A perfect, smooth, robotic replication. A forgery traced from a digital scan.
I had it. I had the physical proof that paired perfectly with the audio recording. If I gave this to the state police—not the local cops, who answered to the Mayor, but the state investigators—it would be over. The Sterlings would go to prison, and Leo’s name would be cleared.
A triumphant, breathless laugh escaped my lips.
"I wouldn't celebrate just yet, Evans."
The voice came from the darkness near the door.
I spun around, dropping my phone, the light spinning wildly across the ceiling before settling on the floor, illuminating three pairs of feet.
Chloe Sterling stepped forward into the dim yellow light, flanked by Trent and Chase. The heavy steel door was closed behind them. I hadn't heard them come in. I had been too distracted by the files.
Chloe was holding my dirt-stained backpack in her left hand. She looked down at it with utter disgust, then tossed it carelessly onto the concrete floor.
"Did you really think we wouldn't figure out where you were going?" Chloe asked, taking a slow, measured step toward me. She wasn't wearing her varsity jacket today. She wore a sleek black trench coat, making her look older, colder, and infinitely more dangerous.
"Trent checked your bag last night," she continued, her voice echoing in the tight space. "He found the copies from Locker 409. I have to admit, Harper, I underestimated you. I didn't think the little grey mouse had the spine to go digging."
I backed up, clutching the original transfer form to my chest. "You framed him," I whispered, my voice shaking with a potent mixture of terror and absolute rage. "Your father stole the money, and you handed him Leo."
Chloe rolled her eyes, sighing as if I was boring her. "Oh, please. Don't act like your brother was some tragic hero. Leo was a nuisance. He found out about the offshore accounts when he was setting up the network. He tried to blackmail my father. He said if we didn't put the money back, he'd go to the police."
"He was trying to do the right thing!" I screamed, the echo deafening in the small room.
"The right thing?" Chloe laughed, a sharp, humorless sound. "This is the real world, Harper. In the real world, people like us take what we want, and people like you take the fall. Leo thought he was smart. But he didn't realize that my father controls the police. He controls the bank. He controls this town."
She took another step closer, holding out her hand. "Give me the paper, Harper."
"No," I said, stepping back until my spine hit the cold metal of a filing cabinet. I was trapped.
Trent stepped forward, cracking his knuckles, his massive frame blocking any hope of escape. "We can do this the hard way, Evans. I really don't mind."
I looked desperately between the three of them. There was no way out. No windows. No secondary exit.
"If you hurt me, people will know," I lied, trying to keep my chin up. "I told people where I was."
"No, you didn't," Chloe said smoothly. "You have no friends. You don't speak to anyone. If you disappear down here with a broken arm, everyone will just assume you finally snapped like your brother."
She closed the distance between us. I tried to twist away, but Trent was there in a flash. His heavy hands clamped down on my shoulders, slamming me hard back against the cabinet. The breath rushed out of my lungs in a painful gasp.
Chloe reached out and calmly plucked the original transfer form from my trembling fingers.
I struggled, kicking my boots against Trent's shins, but he didn't even flinch. He just pressed his weight harder against me, pinning me in place.
Chloe held the paper up to the dim light, examining the forged signature. "It really is a good copy, isn't it? Dad paid a guy in the city two grand just to trace it perfectly."
She reached into the pocket of her trench coat and pulled out a silver Zippo lighter. She flicked it open. The small, bright flame illuminated the cruel satisfaction in her eyes.
"No! Please!" I screamed, tears finally breaking free, burning hot trails down my cold cheeks. "Don't! It's all I have!"