"How do you know my name?" I demanded, my voice rising in panic. "How do you know about the wine?"
He reached out, his hand steady and clean of the tremor I had seen at the gate.
"You need to go back inside. You need to be nowhere near the service bay when the transport van arrives."
Suddenly, the blinding high-beam headlights of an estate security vehicle swept through the fog, illuminating the bus shelter. The heavy tires of a tactical golf cart crunched aggressively onto the shoulder of the road.
Victor Haines stepped out of the vehicle, holding his heavy flashlight like a weapon.
"Well, well, well," Victor sneered, slamming the cart door shut. "Look who couldn't stay away from her little charity project."
I spun around to face him. "Victor, I’m just waiting for the city bus."
"The buses stopped running on this route an hour ago," Victor said, his hand dropping to the taser on his belt. He walked directly toward me, completely ignoring the man sitting in the shadows of the shelter. "Gerald wants to see you. We did a random locker inspection, Grace. It seems someone has been hiding estate property."
"I didn't steal anything, Victor!" I yelled, taking another step back. "You and Gerald put it there!"
Victor smiled. A predatory, dead-eyed smile.
He lunged forward, grabbing my upper arm with bruising force. He twisted my arm painfully behind my back, marching me violently toward the security cart.
"Let go of me!" I screamed, struggling against his grip, but he was twice my size.
I looked back at the bus shelter. The man in the tattered coat was standing now, holding the satellite phone in his hand. He didn't rush forward to help me. He just watched, his eyes narrowed in cold, calculating observation.
Victor shoved me into the passenger seat of the cart, pulling my lanyard off my neck and snapping my master keycard off the plastic clip.
"Enjoy the ride back, thief," Victor hissed.
He drove me directly to the rear delivery entrance, dragged me out of the cart, and forced me down the concrete stairs into the basement. We walked past the locker rooms, deeper into the subterranean level, until we reached the industrial laundry bunker.
The laundry bunker was a windowless room entirely encased in cinderblock, used for housing the massive commercial washing machines. The only way in or out was a heavy steel fire door.
Victor threw me into the center of the room. I stumbled, hitting my knees against the cold tile floor.
Before I could stand up, Victor pulled my cell phone out of my jacket pocket.
"Hey! I need that for the hospital!" I shouted, scrambling to my feet.
"You won't be taking any calls," Victor replied smoothly, pocketing my phone. "Enjoy your last hours of freedom, Grace. The police are coming at midnight to find the rest of the stolen goods in your locker."
He stepped backward into the hallway and pulled the heavy steel door shut.
The heavy deadbolt slid into place with a definitive, metallic echo.
I ran to the door, slamming my fists against the cold steel, screaming his name. But the thick acoustic insulation of the laundry room swallowed the sound entirely.
I was locked in. The theft was happening. And I was going down for all of it.
The silence inside the laundry bunker was suffocating, broken only by the low hum of the massive industrial water heaters mounted against the far wall.
I pressed my back against the locked steel door, sliding slowly down until I hit the cold tile floor. My chest was heaving. I pulled my knees to my chest, burying my face in my hands.