He blinks, and then his eyes dart up. “What?”
I smile. “Check your phone.”
It buzzes on the table. He hesitates. Then picks it up.
His expression melts from confused to panicked in three seconds flat.
Because on that phone? Is a video. Of him. In his home office. Moving funds. Screaming at his ex. Throwing a lamp. It's all there. Time-stamped. Synced. Edited. Beautiful.
“Who—how did you?—?”
I drop a thumb drive on the table. “That’s for the authorities. They're already en route.”
“Y-you can’t?—!”
“Already did.”
His hand moves for something. A knife? His phone?
Too slow.
I snatch his wrist and slam it into the table. Not hard enough to break, but enough to make a statement. “I suggest you stay put,” I say. “Or don’t. I kind of hope you run. I haven’t stretched in a while.”
His eyes are wide now. “You’re insane.”
“Probably,” I say with a wink.
Then I walk. Out the door. Past the bouncer. Into the night. And there, parked half a block down, is my old Altima.
Arrow’s waiting, laptop open, hoodie up, and chewing on a Slim Jim like he hasn’t eaten in ages.
“Cops got the tip?” I ask as I slide into the passenger seat.
He nods. “Three minutes out. You really dropped the ‘Assets & Ass’ line?”
“I’m a professional.”
He snorts.
I grab my own laptop from the back seat and boot up. “Alright,” I say, fingers flying across the keys. “Let’s scrub all the data, wipethe footage from my cam, and reset all network nodes. We’re ghosts.”
Arrow glances sideways at me. “You know… you could’ve just mailed the tip anonymously.”
“And miss the look on his face?” I grin. “Never.”
My phone buzzes.
It’s a text from a blocked number.
Blocked Number: [Attachment: Video File]
Caption:Your backdoor encryption sucks, Hayes. Try harder.
Arrow sees it.
“Is that…?”
“Lark,” I mutter, staring at the video. It’s from inside the bar. Of me. Confronting Dunn. The whole damn interaction.
