Chapter 3 - The Copy Center at Midnight
By 11:15 P.M., the executive floor of Northgate Development was dead quiet.
The grand glass chandeliers in the atrium were dimmed to a low, golden glow. The only sound was the steady hum of the HVAC system and the occasional squeak of my rubber-soled shoes against the polished terrazzo floor.
I pushed my grey plastic cleaning cart down the long corridor, a yellow mop bucket riding on the front rack. To anyone watching on the security monitors in the basement, I looked like a quiet, defeated ex-wife earning twelve dollars an hour wiping down glass doors.
In reality, my heart was racing like an engine.
Inside the pouch of my apron sat Claire’s silver thumb drive, along with a small digital camera I had bought at a pawn shop two days ago using cash.
I stopped the cart outside the copy center—a windowless room located halfway down the executive hall.
I slid my keycard through the reader. Beep. Green light.
I stepped inside, pulling the heavy cleaning cart in behind me to block the door from closing completely.
The copy center smelled of warm toner, paper dust, and ozone. High-speed commercial printers lined the back wall, their status lights blinking red and blue in the dim room.
I walked straight to the tall metal supply shelving on the south wall. Pushing aside several heavy boxes of letterhead paper, I spotted the flat, grey steel panel of the floor safe embedded near the baseboard.
It had an electronic keypad with a digital LED screen.
I pulled out my phone, opening a encrypted messaging app. Claire had sent me the administrative override sequence thirty minutes earlier before leaving the building.
I punched in the numbers: #8821-ENTER-9043.
The digital screen flickered green. ACCESS GRANTED.
With a soft pneumatic hiss, the heavy steel door unlocked.
I pulled the safe door open. Inside were three black leather binder folders, several gold bullion bars, and a thick stack of blue-bound corporate documents.
I pulled out the top binder. Printed on the spine in silver foil was: NORTHGATE DEVELOPMENT - SPECIAL ASSET PARTNERSHIPS.
I opened it on the floor beneath the printer table, out of direct line of sight from the hallway security camera mounted near the doorway.
Page after page revealed the true financial belly of Northgate.
It wasn't just the $3.4 million transfer Travis had discussed with Victor earlier that evening. Over the past eighteen months, Travis had systematically stripped Northgate’s liquid reserves, transferring a total of $8.2 million into six separate offshore shell companies registered in Nevada, Panama, and Nevis.
And at the bottom of almost every single transfer approval page sat my forged signature.
My hand shook as I turned the pages. He had used my name to authorize high-risk real estate loans, tax-exempt equipment leases, and personal cash disbursements to his private accounts. If any of these shell companies failed, the debt wouldn't belong to Northgate—it would belong to me as the signing guarantor.
"You bastard," I whispered into the quiet room.
I pulled out the pawn shop camera and began taking high-resolution photographs of every single page, ensuring the dates, account numbers, and forged signatures were crystal clear.
Click. Click. Click.
Ten minutes passed. I was halfway through the second binder when the sharp sound of a keycard reader chimed out in the hallway.
Beep.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
Footsteps echoed on the tile outside—heavy, unhurried, and unmistakably male.
"Eliza?" a smooth, arrogant voice called out from the corridor.
It was Travis.
I froze, flat on my stomach beneath the printer counter, the camera held tight against my chest.
"Eliza, I know you're in here," Travis's voice drifted closer. "The security log showed your badge scanned into the copy room twelve minutes ago."
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I held my breath, every muscle in my body locking up. The safe door was wide open. The black leather binders were lying open on the concrete floor. If he stepped three feet inside the room, he would see everything.
The shadow of his polished leather shoes appeared in the doorway, blocking the low light from the hallway.
