I couldn't sleep that night. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Alexander's cold gray stare and felt the violation of knowing someone had gone through my personal belongings. They had my photos. They had seen the evidence I'd gathered about Dad's murder. And they wanted me to know it.
At 2 AM, I gave up trying to rest and made myself coffee. I sat at my kitchen table with my laptop, staring at the backup files on my computer. The photos from the crash site were still there, along with copies of all the police reports and financial documents I had collected over the past three years.
But having backups wasn't enough. I needed to know who had searched my desk. I needed to know how much Alexander knew and what he was planning to do about it.
More importantly, I needed to understand why they had copied my files instead of just destroying them. That decision told me something important about how they operated. They weren't just trying to silence me - they were studying me.
I opened my web browser and logged into the Blackstone Capital employee portal. Every company had security cameras, and most employees had access to basic footage for safety reasons. If I was lucky, I might be able to see who had been near my desk during the conference room meeting.
The portal was more comprehensive than I expected. Blackstone had cameras on every floor, in every hallway, and at every entrance. I found the feeds for the forty-third floor and scrolled back to yesterday afternoon.
At 1:35 PM, while I was being humiliated in front of thirty colleagues, the camera showed the investment analysis department completely empty. Everyone was in the conference room on the forty-fifth floor.
Then, at 1:47 PM, a figure appeared in the hallway.
I paused the video and leaned closer to my laptop screen. It was a woman in a dark business suit, walking purposefully toward my section of the floor. She moved like she belonged there, like she had every right to be in the department during a mandatory meeting.
I watched her disappear from the hallway camera's view, then switched to the internal department camera. The angle wasn't perfect, but I could see her approach my desk and sit down in my chair. She opened drawers methodically, photographed documents with her phone, and accessed my computer.
The whole process took exactly twelve minutes. Then she was gone, leaving everything exactly as she had found it except for the subtle signs that told me someone had been there.
I screenshotted several frames of the video, then enhanced the images as much as I could with basic photo editing software. The woman appeared to be in her thirties, with dark brown hair pulled back in a professional bun. Her suit was expensive but not flashy. She wore minimal jewelry and moved with the efficiency of someone who had done this before.
I had never seen her before in my life.
But she clearly knew exactly what she was looking for. This wasn't a random search - it was a targeted operation by someone who knew about my investigation and knew where I kept my evidence.
I saved the enhanced screenshots and closed my laptop. Sleep was definitely not happening tonight. Instead, I got dressed in dark jeans, a black sweater, and running shoes. If I was going to figure out who this woman was, I needed to do some investigating of my own.
Blackstone Capital kept employee records in their human resources database. If this woman worked for the company, there would be a record of her. And if she didn't work for the company, that was even more interesting.
At 4 AM, I drove back to Manhattan and parked three blocks away from the Blackstone building. The streets were empty except for a few early morning joggers and delivery trucks. I walked to the office building and used my employee badge to get through the main entrance.
The security guard barely looked up from his newspaper. "Early morning, Miss Laurent?"
"Couldn't sleep. Thought I'd get a head start on some projects."
He nodded and waved me toward the elevators. Apparently, workaholic junior employees weren't unusual at Blackstone Capital.
I took the elevator to the forty-third floor and went straight to my desk. Everything looked exactly as I had left it yesterday, but I knew better now. I turned on my computer and logged into the company's internal directory.
The HR database required special permissions that I didn't have as a junior employee. But every company had security vulnerabilities, and I had learned some basic hacking skills during my Harvard computer science electives.
It took me forty minutes to find a way into the system through an outdated maintenance portal that still had default password settings. Once I was in, I searched through employee photos until I found a match for the woman in the security footage.
Her name was Sarah Chen. According to her file, she was a senior investigator in Blackstone's corporate security department. She had been with the company for eight years and had previously worked for the FBI's financial crimes unit.
A corporate spy with federal law enforcement training. That explained how she had searched my desk so efficiently.
But it also raised new questions. Why did Alexander need a former FBI agent to investigate a junior analyst? What did he think I was capable of that required that level of professional surveillance?
I printed Sarah Chen's employee photo and contact information, then logged out of the system and deleted my browser history. As I was preparing to leave, my phone buzzed with a text message.
It was from Damien: "Are you in the building? I can see lights on in your department."
I looked toward the windows and realized he was right. The early morning darkness made the office lights visible from outside. If Damien could see them, so could anyone else who was watching the building.
I texted back: "Working early. Why are you here?"
"Same reason you are. Meet me in the parking garage, level B2. We need to talk."
I hesitated. Trusting Damien was still a huge risk. But he had stood up to his father for me yesterday, and right now he was the only ally I had.
I took the elevator down to the underground parking garage. Level B2 was dimly lit and mostly empty except for a few expensive cars that probably belonged to executives. I found Damien standing next to a black BMW, looking tired and frustrated.
"You found something," he said as soon as he saw me.
"How do you know?"
"Because you're here at 5 AM instead of sleeping like a normal person. What did you discover?"
I showed him the screenshots of Sarah Chen and her employee file. Damien studied the images with the same focused intensity I had seen on the rooftop.
"Sarah Chen," he said. "I know her. She reports directly to my father."
"She searched my desk yesterday while you were defending me in the conference room."
"I figured as much. Alexander doesn't do anything without backup plans." Damien handed the photos back to me. "The question is what she found and what they're planning to do about it."
"She copied everything. My photos from the crash site, my research files, all of it."
Damien was quiet for a moment, processing this information. "That's actually good news."
"How is that good news?"
"Because if they just wanted to stop you, they would have destroyed the evidence and had you arrested for trespassing or corporate espionage. The fact that they copied your files means they want to understand your investigation before they shut it down."
"So what do I do now?"
"We follow Sarah Chen and find out where she took your information."
I stared at him. "You want to spy on a former FBI agent?"
"I want to find out what my father is hiding. Your investigation into Charles Laurent's death is just the beginning, Sophia. There's something much bigger going on here."
"What do you mean?"
Damien pulled out his phone and showed me a series of financial documents. "I've been doing my own research into Blackstone Capital's acquisitions over the past five years. Do you notice anything interesting?"
I scrolled through the documents, reading company names and acquisition dates. Most of them meant nothing to me, but a few stood out.
"Morrison Industries," I said. "That was a family company in Chicago. The owner died in a boating accident and the family sold to Blackstone for almost nothing."
"Keep reading."
"Castellano Holdings. The founder had a heart attack at forty-five. No family history of heart disease." I looked up at Damien. "How many of these companies were acquired after the owner died unexpectedly?"
"Twelve out of fifteen in the past three years."
The implications hit me like a cold wave. "You think your father is having people killed to steal their companies?"
"I think my father is part of something much more organized than simple corporate murder. And I think your father found out about it."
We stood in the underground garage, surrounded by concrete pillars and the distant hum of ventilation systems. The weight of what Damien was suggesting pressed down on me like a physical force.
"If you're right," I said slowly, "then we're not just investigating one murder. We're looking at a systematic conspiracy to destroy successful family businesses."
"That's exactly what I think we're looking at."
"And Sarah Chen is part of it."
"Sarah Chen is how we're going to prove it." Damien checked his watch. "She usually arrives at work around 8 AM. If we follow her after she leaves tonight, we might find out where she's storing the information she stole from you."
"That's incredibly dangerous."
"Everything about this is dangerous. But it's also necessary." Damien looked at me with those intense blue eyes. "I've been watching my father destroy people for years, telling myself it was just aggressive business. But your father's death made me realize what Alexander really is."
"And what's that?"
"A monster who needs to be stopped."
The parking garage felt colder suddenly, like the concrete walls were closing in around us. I thought about my father, about the brake lines in the storm drain, about all the families who had lost everything while Alexander Blackstone got richer.
"Okay," I said. "Let's follow Sarah Chen."
We agreed to meet at 6 PM in a coffee shop across the street from Blackstone Capital. I would watch the building's front entrance while Damien monitored the parking garage. As soon as Sarah left work, we would follow her and see where she went.
The rest of the day passed slowly. I went through the motions of being a normal employee, analyzing financial reports and attending meetings. But my mind was focused on the evening's surveillance operation.
At 5:45 PM, I left the office and walked to the coffee shop Damien had suggested. It was a small place with large windows that offered a perfect view of the Blackstone building. I ordered a latte and found a table near the window.
Damien arrived ten minutes later, sliding into the seat across from me. "She's still in the building. Her car is on level B1."
"What kind of car?"
"Silver Toyota Camry. License plate 7G4-8921." He handed me a small earpiece. "Bluetooth communicator. We can stay in contact while we're following her."
I put the earpiece in and tested it. Damien's voice came through clearly. "Can you hear me?"
"Perfectly."
We sat in the coffee shop for another hour, watching employees leave the Blackstone building. Most of them looked exhausted after their long workday. A few looked stressed or angry. None of them looked like corporate spies carrying stolen evidence.
At 7:15 PM, Damien's voice crackled through the earpiece. "Target acquired. Sarah Chen just got into her car."
I looked toward the building and saw a silver Camry pulling out of the parking garage. "I see her."
"I'm following in my car. Stay on this channel and meet me at the corner of Broadway and 42nd Street in fifteen minutes."
I paid for my coffee and walked quickly to my Honda. The evening traffic was heavy, but I managed to navigate through the crowded streets to our rendezvous point. Damien was waiting in his BMW when I arrived.
"She's heading downtown," his voice said through the earpiece. "Toward the warehouse district."
I followed his car through the maze of Manhattan streets, staying several car lengths behind the silver Camry. Sarah Chen drove efficiently, changing lanes when necessary but never speeding or drawing attention to herself.
After twenty minutes, we were in a part of the city I didn't recognize. Old industrial buildings lined the streets, most of them dark and apparently abandoned. The Camry turned into a narrow alley between two warehouses.
"End of the line," Damien said. "Park here and we'll go on foot."
I parked behind his BMW and got out. The neighborhood was eerily quiet after the noise of midtown Manhattan. Streetlights cast long shadows between the buildings, and the air smelled like rust and old concrete.
"This way," Damien whispered, leading me toward the alley where Sarah had disappeared.
We crept along the side of a warehouse, staying in the shadows. At the end of the alley, we could see the silver Camry parked next to a loading dock. Sarah Chen was standing next to an open warehouse door, talking to someone inside.
"Can you hear what she's saying?" I whispered.
Damien shook his head. "Too far away. But look at the building."
I followed his gaze and noticed something strange. The warehouse looked abandoned from the street, but there were lights on inside. And the loading dock showed signs of recent use - fresh tire tracks in the dirt and no rust on the metal doors.
"Someone's been using this place regularly," I said.
"Let's get closer."
We moved carefully along the side of the building, using shipping containers and old equipment as cover. As we got nearer to the loading dock, I could hear voices.
"...all the files from the Laurent investigation," Sarah was saying. "Photos, financial records, everything she collected over the past three years."
"And the girl?" asked a man's voice I didn't recognize.
"Alexander wants her monitored but not eliminated yet. She might lead us to other problems we need to address."
"What about the son?"
"Damien is becoming a liability. If he continues interfering, we'll have to deal with him separately."
I felt Damien tense beside me. His own father was planning to "deal with" him.
"How many other targets are we tracking?" Sarah asked.
"Currently fifteen active investigations. The Morrison family in Chicago is still asking questions about their father's death. The Castellanos in Miami hired a private investigator. And we have three new acquisitions planned for next quarter."
My blood went cold. This wasn't just about my father or even Blackstone Capital. This was a systematic operation targeting multiple families across the country.
Sarah handed the man a file folder. "The Laurent evidence is in here. Store it with the others."
"Building C or Building D?"
"Building C. That's where we keep the active cases."
The man disappeared into the warehouse with my stolen files. Sarah got back into her car and drove away, leaving us hidden in the shadows beside the loading dock.
"Did you hear that?" I whispered.
"Every word." Damien's voice was tight with anger. "Multiple families. Multiple murders. This is bigger than we thought."
"We need to see what's in that warehouse."
"Are you insane? We just heard them talking about eliminating people who ask too many questions."
"Exactly. Which means whatever they're hiding in there is worth killing for." I looked at the open loading dock door. "My father's files are in there. Along with evidence from at least fourteen other families."
Damien was quiet for a moment, weighing the risks. "If we get caught..."
"If we don't do this, more people will die."
He nodded slowly. "Okay. But we do this fast and quiet. Get in, document everything we can, and get out."
We waited until the warehouse district was completely quiet, then approached the loading dock. The door was still partially open, and we could see a dimly lit corridor beyond.
I pulled out my phone and switched it to camera mode. "I'll document everything. You watch for guards."
"Be careful."
We slipped through the open door and into the warehouse. The inside was much larger than it looked from outside, with high ceilings and concrete floors. But instead of being empty, it was filled with filing cabinets and storage boxes.
Hundreds of them.
"My God," I whispered.
Each filing cabinet was labeled with a family name and date range. I saw "Laurent 2021-2024" along with dozens of others: Morrison, Castellano, Davidson, Wong, Petrosky. Some files went back ten years or more.
I started taking photos of everything - the cabinet labels, the organization system, the sheer scope of the operation. This wasn't just corporate espionage. This was industrial-scale destruction of American family businesses.
"Sophia," Damien's voice was urgent. "Look at this."
He was standing in front of a large map on the far wall. It showed the United States with red pins marking major cities. Each pin had a number next to it indicating how many "acquisitions" had been completed in that area.
New York: 23 Chicago: 18 Los Angeles: 31 Miami: 12 Dallas: 15
"They're everywhere," I breathed.
I took photos of the map, then turned my attention to a desk near the filing cabinets. It was covered with documents and financial reports. I photographed everything I could see, including what looked like a list of future targets.
My father's name was on that list, marked with a red X and the date of his death. Below it were fifteen other names, some marked with X's and dates, others still unmarked.
Still alive, but not for long if this pattern continued.
"We need to go," Damien said. "Now."
I took a few more quick photos, then we headed back toward the loading dock. But as we reached the corridor, we heard the sound of car engines outside.
"Shit," Damien muttered. "Someone's coming back."
We found a hiding spot behind a row of filing cabinets just as flashlight beams swept through the warehouse. I could hear footsteps and voices getting closer.
"...should have secured the building better," someone was saying.
"The door was locked when I left," replied a voice I recognized as the man Sarah had been talking to earlier.
"Well, it's open now. Check everything. Make sure nothing's been disturbed."
My heart was pounding so loud I was sure they could hear it. Damien and I pressed ourselves against the back wall, hidden in the shadows between the filing cabinets.
The footsteps got closer. Flashlight beams swept back and forth across the warehouse floor. I held my breath and prayed they wouldn't find us.
After what felt like hours but was probably only ten minutes, the footsteps moved away toward the other side of the building.
"Clear over here," someone called.
"Same here. Must have been the wind that blew the door open."
"Better install those motion sensors Alexander wants."
"I'll call the contractor tomorrow."
The voices faded as the men left the warehouse. We waited another fifteen minutes before moving, then crept back to the loading dock and slipped outside.
We didn't speak until we were back at our cars three blocks away.
"Did you get everything?" Damien asked.
I checked my phone. Sixty-three photos of files, documents, maps, and target lists. Evidence of a conspiracy that went far beyond my father's murder.
"I got it all," I said. "Now we just need to figure out what to do with it."
Damien looked toward the warehouse district, his face grim in the streetlight. "Now we take down everyone involved in this operation. Starting with my father."
"And then?"
"Then we make sure this never happens to another family."
I looked at the photos on my phone - evidence of murders, theft, and systematic destruction spanning years and multiple states. My investigation into my father's death had uncovered something much bigger and more dangerous than I had ever imagined.
But it had also given me allies I never expected and evidence that could bring down the entire operation.
The question now was whether we would survive long enough to use it.