He looked at me, expecting tears or a confession.
He wanted a victim.
He was about to get a nightmare instead.
I tilted my head, offering him a faint, dangerous smile that made him falter for a split second.
He didn't like that.
He shoved the paper closer to my chest, his knuckles white with suppressed rage.
"Enough," he growled, his face twisting into a mask of pure malice.
"I'll take it, black ass."
Those words were the final piece of the puzzle.
I didn't flinch.
I didn't even blink.
I just stared into his eyes, watching the tiny, flickering realization that he had made a fatal mistake.
He stepped back, wiping his hands on his uniform as if I were something dirty.
I knew he was going to try to delete the footage later.
He would try to delete everything.
But the cloud doesn't lie.
The servers were already uploading the raw files to a secure server offshore.
He was trapped, and he didn't even know the cage door had already locked behind him.
I stood my ground, waiting for the next move in this deadly game.
Every fiber of my being was screaming for action, yet my outer composure remained unshakable, a fortress of icy resolve.
Rourke’s arrogance was his Achilles heel, the kind of blinding hubris that inevitably led to a downfall.
He turned his back on me to address his partner, his voice dropping into a smug, conspiratorial tone.
"Process her, and make sure she stays here until I say otherwise," he commanded, his back still turned as if I were merely furniture in his office.
Little did he know, the woman in the sharp suit was my final ace in the hole.
She had been on the fence for months, tired of the corruption, the dirty money, and the way Rourke treated everyone like pawns.