The calm concentration, the methodical approach, the legitimate access at nine-thirty at night, she wasn’t corporate staff, and she definitely wasn’t Oblivion. I’d recognize one of Dresner’s people.
So who the hell was she, and why was she at the very workstation I needed to access the financial records I’d come to steal?
Wait for her to leave? Could take hours.
Confront her? Risky. One scream and security would flood the floor. Building lockdown, cameras reviewed, my face on every screen.
Abort the mission? Unacceptable. This lead was all I had. Dresner’s financial empire was built on complexity and misdirection, and I was a weapon, not an accountant. Needed an expert.
And apparently, one just walked into my infiltration.
The universe had a sick sense of humor.
Shifted weight, considering options. A cooling fan cycled down, dropping the ambient noise for half a second.
She stiffened.
Fingers stilled on the keyboard. Shoulders locked. The kind of tension that came from sensing a threat without seeing it, survival instinct screaming you’re not alone.
She’d either caught movement in the computer screen’s reflection or heard something my entry didn’t cover.
Smart.
She turned slowly, palms visible. Her gaze found me crouched between equipment racks, gray irises sharp, intelligent. Fear flashed across her face and vanished in a heartbeat.
Most people screamed. Ran. Froze completely.
She stood slowly, keeping her palms where I could see them. Calm despite the terror racing through her, visible in the rapid flutter at her throat.
“Who are you?” Steady voice. Measured. The kind of control that came from forcing panic down and refusing to let it win.
Stepped into the light, letting her see me fully. No point hiding now.
“I could ask you the same thing.”
“I’m authorized to be here.” She didn’t back away. Didn’t reach for anything. Just watched me with those calculating gray irises. “You’re not.”
“How do you know?”
“Because you’re hiding in the shadows.”
Fair point.
Rapid pulse still visible at her throat, but her voice didn’t shake. She was terrified and standing her ground anyway.
Interesting.
Opened my mouth to ask what the hell she was doing when footsteps echoed from the hallway.
Heavy boots. Multiple sets. Voices approaching.
“Ms. Wells? Everything alright?”
Security. Routine check, probably. They’d passed through at nine, clockwork schedule. But we’d been talking, voices carried in these sterile spaces.
Calculated escape routes instantly. The emergency exit in the corner, twenty feet. The ventilation shaft behind the racks, accessible but tight. The main door, occupied by incoming guards.
She had maybe two seconds to decide.
