Chapter 8 - THE BREAKROOM REVELATION
The inside of the office smelled of burnt paper and chemical cleaner.
I flipped on my phone's flashlight, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. I bounded up the carpeted stairs to the second floor, following the signs for the employee breakroom.
In the center of the office suite, a massive industrial shredder was sitting beside three empty plastic bins. Thousands of paper strips littered the carpet like artificial snow.
They had already destroyed seventy percent of the records.
I threw open the breakroom door, dragged a chair over to the center of the room, and stepped up onto the seat. I pushed aside the acoustic ceiling tile directly above the microwave.
My fingers brushed against something cool and metallic.
I pulled out a heavy, black external hard drive wrapped in thick bubble wrap, taped securely to a steel support beam.
"Got it," I whispered, tears of relief pricking my eyes.
"Looking for this?" a cold voice rasped behind me.
I turned around slowly on the chair.
Dr. Arthur Sterling was standing in the doorway, wearing a dark raincoat, holding a heavy iron tire iron in his leather-gloved hand. Beside him stood Heather, her arms crossed, a smirk smeared across her face.
"You really are a persistent little pest, aren't you, Elena?" Dr. Sterling said, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. "You should have stayed in Qatar cleaning toilets."
"It's over, Sterling," I said, clutching the hard drive against my chest. "The police know everything. Clara is downstairs right now."
Heather snickered. "Clara is currently pinned inside her car by Todd's truck in the back alley, honey. Nobody is coming to save you."
Dr. Sterling raised the tire iron, his eyes cold and devoid of human empathy. "Do you know how much money I made off your mother, Elena? One hundred and thirty-six thousand dollars from you... plus another eighty thousand from her reverse mortgage that Mark signed over to me last year."
"You monster," I spat.
"It's just business," Sterling replied smoothly. "Old people are a renewable resource. Families want to feel good about dumping them, and I provide the service. Now, hand over the hard drive, or I'll make sure you end up on an operating table next."
He took a step toward me.
I didn't back down. Instead, I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out a small, red plastic device with a single yellow button.
"Do you know what this is, Doctor?" I asked.
May you like
Sterling paused, frowning. "What is that?"
"It's a satellite tracking beacon used by hotel security teams in Doha for high-riskVIP escort," I said, my voice steady. "The second I crossed the threshold of this building, the signal activated. The State Police SWAT team isn't ten minutes away... they are in the driveway right now."
