My lungs burned as I ran through the maze of warehouses and industrial buildings. The weight of the bag against my side felt like it contained far more than just documents and a hard drive. It carried the burden of a three-year investigation, a dead man's legacy, and possibly Alexander's freedom.
I didn't know Queens well enough to navigate with confidence, but I knew I needed to put as much distance between myself and the storage facility as possible. The Vasquez siblings weren't likely to chase me themselves, but I had no doubt they had people who would.
After ten minutes of running, my dress shoes pinching with every step, I finally slowed to assess my surroundings. I'd reached what appeared to be a main road, though traffic was sparse at this hour. No cabs in sight. My phone showed minimal battery life, another problem to add to my growing list.
A distant siren wailed, sending a jolt of panic through me. Was it possible they'd called the police? Reported a break-in at their own facility? I ducked into the shadow of a bus shelter, trying to steady my breathing and think clearly.
I needed a plan. I couldn't go home, that would be the first place they'd look. The office was equally dangerous. Hotels required ID, which could be traced. My friends would ask questions I couldn't answer, and involving them would only put them at risk.
My phone vibrated with an incoming call. Unknown number. I hesitated, then answered without speaking.
"Eliza?" Marcus Chen's voice was tense. "Are you alright?"
"Marcus?" I whispered, relief and suspicion warring within me. "How did you get this number?"
"Alexander gave it to me. Emergency protocol." His words came quickly. "Listen carefully. There's a diner called Sal's about half a mile east of your position. Go there now. Order coffee, sit at the counter. I'll meet you there in twenty minutes."
"Marcus, I don't understand..."
"No time. Your phone may be compromised. We'll talk in person." He hung up.
Trust the system. What system? How had Marcus known where I was? Had Alexander planned for this exact scenario?
With no better options, I oriented myself eastward and began walking, keeping to shadows where possible. My mind raced with questions. Was Marcus truly on our side? What would happen to Alexander? Had he somehow escaped the Vasquez siblings?
Sal's Diner appeared after about fifteen minutes, a neon-lit throwback with chrome trim and windows that glowed yellow against the night. It looked like a place time had forgotten, wedged between a shuttered electronics repair shop and a 24-hour laundromat.
Inside, the diner was nearly empty. An elderly man nursed a cup of coffee at one booth. Two truckers sat at opposite ends of the counter, focused on their meals. A tired-looking waitress glanced up as the bell above the door announced my entrance.
"Coffee," I said as I slid onto a counter stool, trying to appear more composed than I felt. "Black, please."
She nodded and poured without comment, then drifted back to whatever paperback she'd been reading by the register.
I kept the bag close against my body, one hand resting protectively on it while the other wrapped around the warm mug. Every time the door opened, my heart leapt into my throat.
Ten minutes later, the bell jingled, and Marcus walked in, looking nothing like the polished executive I'd met earlier. He wore jeans and a dark hoodie, with a baseball cap pulled low over his face. He slid onto the stool next to mine without making eye contact.
"Order another coffee," he said quietly. "We need to look normal."
I signaled the waitress, who brought over a second cup.
"Is Alexander okay?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
Marcus nodded slightly. "He got away. The Vasquez siblings aren't going to report anything—they can't risk drawing attention to that facility. But they're furious."
"Where is he now?"
"Safe. That's all you need to know for the moment." Marcus took a sip of his coffee. "Did you look in the bag yet?"
I shook my head. "No time."
"Good. Keep it that way for now." He glanced around the diner. "We need to get you somewhere secure for the night. Tomorrow, you'll go back to work as if nothing happened."
"Back to work?" I stared at him. "After all this?"
"Especially after all this. If you disappear, Vasquez will know you have the evidence." Marcus's expression was deadly serious. "The best way to protect yourself right now is to act completely normal. Do your job. Smile at colleagues. Pretend tonight never happened."
"And what about Alexander? He can't exactly show up at the office tomorrow."
"Alexander has a scheduled trip to the Tokyo office that was supposed to start tomorrow. As far as anyone knows, he's on a plane right now." Marcus checked his watch. "Look, we don't have much time. I've arranged a hotel room for you tonight, not under your name. Tomorrow morning, you'll go home, change, and go to work. Act surprised when you hear Alexander had to leave suddenly for Tokyo."
"What about the evidence?" I gestured to the bag.
"There's a locker key in the side pocket. Grand Central Terminal, locker 4721. Store it there before you go to the office tomorrow. Alexander will make sure it's picked up."
My head was spinning. "Marcus, why are you involved in this? How long have you known about Vasquez?"
He sighed. "James Miller was my friend too. And not everyone in the company is loyal to Richard Vasquez." He reached into his pocket and handed me a hotel key card. "The Parkview Inn, three blocks south. Room 312. It's paid for in cash. Get some rest. I'll be in touch tomorrow at the office."
He stood to leave, then paused. "Eliza... be careful who you trust. Even at Thornton Industries, walls have ears."
With that, he left, leaving me alone with my cooling coffee and a thousand questions.
The Parkview Inn was a modest establishment, not the kind of place where Thornton executives typically stayed. The room was clean but basic a queen bed, a small desk, a television I didn't turn on. I set the bag carefully on the desk, tempted to look inside despite Marcus's warning.
In the end, curiosity won. I unzipped the bag and carefully laid out its contents, the laptop, the hard drive, and several folders of documents. Most seemed to be financial records and photographs of factories in China. One folder contained personnel files, including one for James Miller.
His face smiled up at me from his company ID photo, a man in his early thirties with kind eyes and the confident expression of someone who believed in what he was doing. It was strange to finally see the person at the center of this conspiracy, the friend whose death Alexander had been investigating for three years.
According to his file, James had been with Thornton Industries for six years before his death, rising quickly through the ranks to become Director of International Operations
His last performance review, signed by Alexander, praised his "exceptional attention to ethical considerations" and "dedication to company values above profit margins."
The file also included a newspaper clipping about his death, a small article noting that James Miller, 34, had died when his car veered off the Queensboro Bridge late at night. The police had ruled it an accident, likely caused by driver fatigue.
His last performance review, signed by Alexander, praised his "exceptional attention to ethical considerations" and "dedication to company values above profit margins."
The file also included a newspaper clipping about his death, a small article noting that James Miller, 34, had died when his car veered off the Queensboro Bridge late at night. The police had ruled it an accident, likely caused by driver fatigue.
I was about to open the laptop when my phone vibrated with a text from an unknown number.
Are you safe? -A
My heart jumped at those three simple characters. Alexander.
Yes. With Marcus earlier. Now at hotel. You? I typed back.
The reply came quickly: Fine. Minor scratches. Had to abandon car. Will contact tomorrow. Don't examine files tonight. Not secure. Sleep if you can.
I stared at the message, a strange relief washing over me. Alexander was alive and free. Somehow, he'd escaped the Vasquez siblings.
What happens tomorrow? I asked.
Return to normal. Office as usual. Storage is secure. Trust Marcus. Be careful around Walker.
Walker, the Chief Operating Officer who had been in frequent meetings with Richard Vasquez. The revelation made my stomach churn. How deep did this conspiracy go?
Will you be at the office? I texted.
Tokyo cover story initially. Working remotely. Will explain more when secure. Get some rest, Eliza.
A moment later, another text: Sorry for dragging you into this. Never meant for any of this to touch you.
I found myself smiling despite everything. I'm tougher than I look, I replied.
Yes. You are. came the response. Tomorrow, 8pm. Your new office. Door will be unlocked.
With that cryptic message, the conversation ended. I gathered the documents, returning them carefully to the bag exactly as I'd found them. Sleep seemed impossible, but Marcus was right, I needed rest if I was going to maintain a convincing façade of normalcy tomorrow.
As I lay in the unfamiliar bed, staring at the ceiling, I replayed the events of the past forty-eight hours. A lifetime ago, I'd been just an HR manager, concerned with policies and personnel files. Now I was caught in a web of corporate espionage, possible murder, and a conspiracy that reached to the highest levels of Thornton Industries.
And somewhere in the middle of it all was Alexander Thornton, a man I thought I had known, only to discover layers I never suspected. A CEO fighting against hidden enemies. A friend seeking justice for a murdered colleague. A man who had kissed me twice, once in a moment of unexpected connection, and once in desperate farewell.
Sleep finally came, but my dreams were filled with shadowy figures, secret files, and Alexander's eyes determined, intense, and harboring secrets I was only beginning to understand.