Siena stared at the hard drive like it was made of glass. Fragile, dangerous, full of truth that could change everything.
Alexander drove in silence, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on his thigh, fingers tapping a steady, anxious rhythm.
Neither of them had said much since they left Gregory Shaw's house. The tension was thick—unspoken, but alive. It was the feeling you got when you were carrying fire and didn't know if it would light the way or burn the house down.
Siena broke the silence first. "Do you trust him?"
Alexander glanced at her. "Gregory? I don't think he's lying. But trust? That's a stretch."
"Because you think he's scared?"
"No. Because he's survived too long in the shadows. People like that always have another layer."
Siena looked down at the drive-in in her hand. "This could bring the company to its knees."
"It could bring Harold to prison," Alexander added. "If we use it right."
"If," she echoed. "That's the word I keep hearing."
They fell back into silence. The city lights were coming into view now, the skyline lit up like a promise. Or a warning.
---
They didn't go home.
Instead, Alexander took a sharp turn off the main road and drove straight into the underground parking of a private building Siena didn't recognize.
"Where are we?" she asked.
"A secure property I own," he said. "We're not risking your apartment or mine. Not with this."
The elevator opened directly into a penthouse suite—modern, glass everywhere, but reinforced. Cameras in every corner. A safe was built into the wall.
Siena looked around. "You don't live here?"
"No," he said. "This place is for when things get... complicated."
She didn't ask what that meant. She didn't want to know—at least not right now.
Alexander placed the hard drive gently on the steel table in the center of the room. He pulled out his laptop, connected the drive, and paused.
"This is going to leave a trace," he said. "Even through a firewall. Once we open it, someone might know we have it."
Siena took a breath. "Then let's not wait."
He nodded and clicked.
The screen flickered, then loaded rows and rows of encrypted files. Account numbers. Names. Dates. Digital breadcrumbs stretching back over a decade.
Siena's eyes widened. "God..."
Alexander clicked through slowly, carefully, decoding file after file.
Offshore accounts tied to shell companies.
Hartline Resources transfers "consulting" fees to blank corporations—then those same corporations funneling money to subsidiaries Harold controlled in South America and Eastern Europe.
"You seeing this?" Alexander muttered.
"It's a laundering maze," Siena said. "Built to be unreadable unless you knew where to look."
"Which Gregory did."
They kept going—click after click, folder after folder.
And then, they found it.
A file titled: Final Cover—J.H. Estate
Alexander opened it.
Inside were scanned documents: a fake death certificate. A contract forged with a dead man's signature. And a false transfer of ownership document for a company Siena's father had founded personally—transferred to Harold Withers three months before his death.
Siena's stomach dropped. "He stole my father's legacy."
Alexander nodded grimly. "And used it to legitimize the rest."
A deep silence followed.
Then Siena straightened.
"We need to get this into the right hands."
Alexander looked at her. "Not just any hands. Someone we trust. Someone who doesn't answer to Harold."
Siena paused. "There's someone I might know. A woman named Jace Linwood. She used to work in the Bureau. Now she's freelance—exposes corporate fraud. She's not afraid to dig deep."
Alexander raised an eyebrow. "You sure about her?"
"No," Siena admitted. "But she's not on Harold's payroll. That's more than I can say for half the board."
Alexander considered. Then nodded. "Set up a meet. We'll test the waters."
---
That night, Siena sat on the balcony of the penthouse, the city stretching endlessly in front of her. The air was cool, almost cold, but she didn't move.
Alexander joined her a few minutes later, two mugs of coffee in his hands.
"Thought you might need something to stay warm."
She accepted the mug, fingers brushing his. "Thanks."
They sat in silence, watching the skyline flicker.
"You ever wonder how we ended up here?" she asked softly.
"All the time."
Siena turned to him. "If someone told you five years ago you'd be sitting in a penthouse with the daughter of your enemy, plotting to bring down the man who helped build your empire... what would you have said?"
He smirked faintly. "I'd say they were insane."
She smiled, but it didn't last.
"Do you think we're doing the right thing, Alex?"
He looked at her, serious now. "What's right is rarely comfortable. But yeah. I do."
She exhaled. "I just don't want to destroy everything. Not the company. Not what my father tried to build."
"We're not destroying it," he said. "We're saving it. Do you want Hartline to survive? Then Harold has to fall."
Siena nodded. "I know. It just feels like lighting a match in a room full of paper."
"Maybe," he said. "But sometimes fire is what clears the way."
---
The next morning, Siena made the call.
Jace Linwood answered on the third ring.
"Siena Hart. I thought you dropped off the radar."
"I've got something you'll want to see."
A pause. "How dangerous?"
"On a scale of one to ten? Eleven."
Jace laughed softly. "I'm intrigued."
They arranged a meeting at a quiet café in the industrial district—somewhere off the grid, no cameras, no prying eyes.
Jace was already there when Siena arrived. Short hair, leather jacket, sharp eyes that missed nothing.
"You look like someone who's about to commit treason," Jace said, sipping her tea.
"Only corporate treason," Siena replied, sliding into the booth.
Jace leaned in. "Talk to me."
Siena pulled out a flash drive—copied from the original. She slid it across the table.
"Inside is proof of financial laundering. Fake ownership documents. Shell companies. All tied to Harold Withers. And tied to Hartline."
Jace didn't touch the drive. She looked at Siena instead.
"What's your angle?"
"I want the truth out," Siena said. "But I don't want the company destroyed in the process. I need someone who can leak this... surgically."
Jace leaned back, thoughtful. "You know what you're asking for, right? Controlled exposure. Corporate takedown without full collapse. That's not easy."
"I know," Siena said. "But I also know you're the best."
Jace studied her for a long time. Then she nodded once.
"I'll look into it. No promises. But if this is as real as you say... you might just blow the biggest story of the year."
Siena stood. "Just make sure it lands where it needs to."
---
Back at the penthouse, Alexander was reviewing security footage from their offices.
"She took the drive?" he asked.
Siena nodded. "She's cautious. But she's in."
He tapped the screen. "Good. Because we have another problem."
He pulled up a clip from the security feed.
It showed a man in a janitor's uniform walking through Hartline's executive floor—except he never entered a supply closet. He didn't clean. He just... watched. Then left.
"Caught him twice this week. Same face, different IDs."
Siena's mouth went dry. "A spy?"
Alexander nodded grimly. "Harold's stepping up surveillance. He's getting nervous."
She looked at him. "What do we do?"
"We stay one step ahead. And we push back. Hard."
---
Later that evening, Siena returned to her apartment for the first time in three days.
She needed to grab clothes. Clear her mind.
But the moment she stepped into her living room, she froze.
Her couch cushion had been moved. Not by much. Just slightly... wrong.
The vase on the windowsill had shifted.
And her bedroom door?
It was half open.
She had locked it before she left.
Siena backed up slowly and reached for her phone.
Just as it vibrated.
A text. No number.
"Next time, I won't leave quietly."
Her heart pounded.
She didn't scream. She didn't panic.
She turned and walked back out the door.
And this time, she didn't look back.