Siena hadn't planned to sleep that night.
Even with the city lights flickering beyond the glass, even with Alexander's reassuring presence in the adjacent room, her mind refused to shut off. The hard drive Curtis had given her—the same one he might have bled to protect—sat next to her laptop like it was made of fragile glass. One wrong move, one oversight, and years of truth could vanish.
She leaned over, eyes glued to the screen as she reread the documents for the third time.
Bank transfers. Audio clips. Private board memos.
But something still didn't make sense.
There was a missing link. One folder had been encrypted, its contents unreadable even with Alexander's team working overnight on a bypass. She clicked it again, just to be sure. The same screen blinked back: "Access Denied. Requires Biometric Confirmation."
Frustrated, she sat back. "Why would Curtis lock one folder behind a biometric key? And whose?"
Alexander walked in just then, holding two mugs of coffee.
"You're still at it," he said, handing her one.
She took it with a tired smile. "I don't want to miss anything. There's a folder I can't open. It's biometric-locked. Could be voice, retina, or maybe even a fingerprint."
"Curtis didn't mention anything like that?"
She shook her head. "Just said the drive had 'everything.' But he didn't exactly have time for a tutorial."
Alexander sat beside her, eyes scanning the screen. "Let me get Reeve on this. We may need a deeper forensic read."
Siena nodded, but something nagged at her.
What if the person who could unlock it… was no longer alive?
---
The next morning brought a storm—literal and otherwise.
Rain pounded the streets below as Siena and Alexander sat across from ADA Miranda Chen, the assistant district attorney they'd been working with for weeks. Siena had always liked her. Calm, sharp, honest. But today, Miranda's eyes held a weariness Siena hadn't seen before.
"You've brought me a storm," Miranda said, motioning to the files on the table. "This is enough to open a full-scale investigation into Harold Withers and at least six of his shell companies. Possibly more."
"Then what's the problem?" Alexander asked.
Miranda looked at them grimly. "We can't arrest a ghost."
Siena blinked. "What do you mean?"
"Withers left the country two nights ago. Private jet. No official destination listed, but my contact in customs believes he's in South America—somewhere with no extradition treaty."
Siena felt the air drain from her lungs. "You're saying he ran?"
Miranda nodded. "He knew what was coming. Someone tipped him off. Again."
Alexander sat forward. "We've got documentation, a sworn statement from Elaine Hoster, and the drive Curtis gave us. We can expose the network, even without Harold."
"I agree," Miranda said. "But the courts don't move on exposure alone. We need to find him. Or find someone close enough to testify against him."
Siena rubbed her temples. "He always had a second-in-command. Someone who cleaned up after him. Someone who would have access to records, instructions, anything."
"Do you have a name?"
Siena paused, then slowly said, "Damien Cross."
Alexander narrowed his eyes. "Your father's former logistics director?"
"He disappeared after the merger," Siena said. "Everyone thought he was fired, but... what if he wasn't?"
Miranda leaned back. "Then he may be the key to your case."
Siena stood. "Then we find him. Whatever it takes."
---
They started with the last known address—an upscale home on the north side, now empty and cold.
Neighbors said Damien had left months ago. No forwarding address. No visits. Just vanished like smoke.
But Alexander wasn't one to accept a dead end.
He made a call to Reeve. Within hours, they had a trail—bank withdrawals in small towns, a vehicle purchase under a false name, and finally, a rental cabin in a remote area two hours out of the city.
As they drove up the gravel path, Siena's fingers clenched the edge of her seat.
"What if he won't talk?"
Alexander gave her a sideways glance. "Then I'll make him."
The cabin was quiet when they arrived. Old wood, sagging porch, one dim light in the window.
Siena knocked.
No answer.
She knocked again, louder.
Finally, the door creaked open.
A man in his late forties stood there, unshaven, eyes shadowed with paranoia and fatigue. He froze when he saw her.
"Miss Hart?"
"Damien," she said, voice firm. "We need to talk."
---
Inside, the air smelled of old coffee and paper. Damien watched them from behind a chipped table, fingers twitching nervously.
"I'm not involved anymore," he said immediately. "I've been out of it for years."
Siena didn't move. "But you were. And you know exactly what Withers was doing."
Damien shook his head. "I was just a logistics man. I filed reports. Managed vendors."
"You signed the transfer order for the shell account that funded the tower buyout," Alexander cut in.
Damien flinched. "I didn't know what it was for."
"But you know now."
Silence.
Then, finally, Damien sighed and looked down. "I know he paid people off. I know he used Hartline like a bank. I didn't think it would go this far. I just needed the job."
"We have evidence, but we need someone to testify," Siena said gently. "Someone who saw the inside. Someone who can confirm the timeline."
Damien looked at her, eyes haunted. "If I talk, they'll come for me."
"We'll protect you," Alexander promised.
Damien hesitated.
Then—slowly—he nodded.
---
That night, Siena sat in the penthouse again, this time with hope in her chest. Damien's statement had been notarized. Miranda had already drafted the formal indictment paperwork.
They weren't done.
But they were finally moving forward.
Still, something tugged at Siena's thoughts.
That locked folder.
She pulled the drive back out, opened the screen, and stared at it.
Biometric.
Then, suddenly, it clicked.
Curtis never trusted tech. He used old systems and kept physical backups. Maybe the biometric wasn't high-tech.
Maybe it was a voice.
She found one of the audio files Curtis had saved—an old message Dael had left him. She isolated a clean sample of her voice and ran it through the folder unlock prompt.
The screen blinked.
"Access Granted."
Siena stared.
Inside the folder were three files.
One was a video.
She clicked it.
Dael appeared on screen, sitting at a desk. Her expression was hard. Focused.
"If you're watching this, it means I didn't make it. Or I've had to disappear. Either way, you need to know what I found…"
Siena's heart pounded as Dael continued, laying out a blueprint of corporate fraud, bribery, and covert surveillance. Names. Dates. Instructions.
And one final sentence that made Siena freeze.
"Don't trust anyone from the original board—not even those who act like they're on your side."