Rowan whispers, “That’s Randy’s office.”
I grab her sleeve lightly and pull her back into the shadow of a copy room doorway. She presses against the wall, eyes wide and furious, but she stays quiet.
We listen.
Randy O’Connell’s voice comes through first, strained, too low. “I did what you asked. The profile was installed. I can prove it.”
Another voice answers, smoother, colder. Not local. Not familiar. A man who sounds like he wears expensive cologne and doesn’t mind blood on his shoes. “Proof is not compliance,” the man says. “Proof is leverage.”
Randy swallows audibly. “She doesn’t know. She trusts me.”
A short, humorless laugh. “Of course she does. You’ve built a whole career on being the good guy.”
Rowan’s breath catches. Her hand tightens into a fist so hard her knuckles lighten. I keep my gaze on the door, my body ready.
Randy’s voice cracks. “You promised me this would stay contained. A scare. A message. Not… violence.”
The other man’s tone stays calm. “Violence is a strong word. We applied pressure. Your reporter is stubborn.”
“She’s not just a reporter,” Randy snaps, then reins it in. “She’s… she’s talented. She’s earned her place.”
“And she’s about to burn down a corporation that employs thousands of people,” the man replies. “Do you understand the scale of what she’s poking at? This story dies, Randy. Or you do.”
Silence.
Then Randy says, smaller, “You said you’d erase it.”
“You give us what she has,” the man replies. “All drafts. All notes. All contacts. Then we erase your mistake. You go back to being respected, and she goes back to writing fluff pieces about charity galas.”
Rowan’s eyes flash. She looks like she might lunge. I catch her wrist, firm this time, and shake my head once. “Not yet,” I mouth the words.
Randy’s chair scrapes. “She has backups. She’s paranoid.”
“Good,” the man says. “Paranoia is predictable. It means she hides things close. On-site. In her workspace. Sometimes people keep secrets where they feel safe.”
My stomach tightens. Rowan’s face goes pale. She understands it too.
The man continues, voice almost conversational. “You’ll bring me her access. Her keys. Her passwords. If she resists, you’ll lure her. If she refuses, we take the problem off the board.”
Rowan’s throat works. She whispers, barely audible, “He wouldn’t.”
I keep my voice low. “He already did.”
A new sound cuts through the hall. A soft click. Footsteps. Not from Randy’s office. From behind us. I turn my head slightly, just enough to catch movement at the end of the corridor. Two men in dark jackets, moving with purpose, not lost employees. One of them holds a small case.
They stop when they see the back door light on the far end flicker. Their heads tilt like dogs catching a scent. They’re not here by chance. They’re sweeping.
My pulse spikes. I shift closer to Rowan, keeping my body between her and the hall. I whisper, “We’re leaving. Now.”
Rowan’s eyes lock on Randy’s door. Rage fights with logic.
“Rowan,” I warn.
She swallows hard and nods once.
We move back the way we came, silent and fast. The footsteps behind us pick up pace. We pass the newsroom again, and my skin prickles. Too open. Too many angles.
Rowan stays close, doing exactly what I tell her, and it makes something in my chest twist. She’s being so brave. Smart. Trusting. We’re almost to the service hall that leads back to thedoor when Randy’s office door swings open down the corridor. A shaft of warm light spills into the dark hall. Randy steps out, shoulders tense, rubbing a hand over his face like he’s trying to scrub off guilt. Behind him, the other man follows.
