The Westbrook Tower looked different at night. Its sleek lines and mirrored glass no longer spoke of business and ambition but of watchfulness, as if the building itself could see and remember. From the street below, its upper floors vanished into fog, the light from its windows diffused into a hazy glow that seemed both alluring and cold.
Claire adjusted her scarf as she crossed the plaza, her steps quick and measured, though her pulse refused to obey. Every sound, the faint rush of wind, the click of her heels on stone, seemed amplified. She had told herself this was just another lead, another clandestine meeting for the sake of truth. But the air around the tower felt charged, as if it knew she didn't belong there.
Maggie had begged her not to come alone. "If it's real, it can wait until morning," she'd said. But Claire couldn't wait. The message had been too direct, too specific. *If you want answers, meet me tonight. Parking garage, level two. Midnight.*
It had been signed with a single initial: E.
She had replayed the words all evening, analyzing every possible implication. Someone inside Westbrook Tower wanted to talk. Someone who knew enough to make her risk her safety.
Claire slipped through the glass doors at the side entrance, her press badge tucked deep inside her coat pocket. The lobby lights had been dimmed to a faint amber hue, and the silence felt unnatural. She pushed open the door to the stairwell and descended quickly, her breath fogging in the chill air. The echo of her footsteps on the concrete was the only sound.
By the time she reached level two, her palms were slick with sweat despite the cold. She scanned the dim space—rows of empty cars, the low hum of fluorescent lighting, the smell of oil and dust.
A shadow moved near one of the pillars. Claire tensed.
A man stepped out. Mid-thirties, thin but wiry, with a cautious energy that suggested he lived on the edge of anxiety. His glasses reflected the overhead light, obscuring his eyes.
"Ethan?" she asked softly.
He nodded, quick and nervous. "Keep your voice down."
Claire approached slowly, keeping a safe distance. "You work for Westbrook Security."
"IT division," he corrected, his voice taut. "And if anyone finds out I'm talking to you, I'll lose more than my job."
"Then make it worth the risk," she said, folding her arms to steady herself.
He hesitated, glancing around the garage as if expecting movement in every shadow. Then he reached inside his jacket and pulled out a slim folder. "Payroll records. Wire transfers. Look at the dates and the routing numbers. You'll see the same accounts repeated through different shells. They lead offshore. Some of them connect directly to a firm tied to Dominic Westbrook."
Claire's heart skipped. "You're sure?"
"I wouldn't be here if I wasn't." His hand trembled slightly as he passed her the folder. "Leo doesn't know the details, not all of them. But Dominic, he's been using the company's infrastructure for years. Moving money. Hiding things."
Claire flipped open the folder. Even a brief glance was enough to make her breath quicken, columns of numbers, coded entries, familiar corporate subsidiaries. It was the kind of evidence that could burn through the facade of Leo Westbrook's empire.
Before she could speak, Ethan froze. His head jerked toward the far end of the garage, eyes wide.
"Shit," he whispered. "We're not alone."
Claire turned. A man was emerging from the shadows, broad shoulders, heavy stride, the kind of movement that radiated intent. She knew that silhouette before his face came into view.
Trent.
Ethan shoved the folder into her hands. "Go!"
"Not without you," Claire said, backing away.
"Go!" His voice cracked with panic.
The air shifted, heavy with danger. Trent was closing the distance, one hand tucked into his coat pocket. Claire didn't wait to see what he was holding. She clutched the folder to her chest and bolted for the stairwell.
Behind her came the thud of footsteps, the crash of metal, a muffled curse. She heard Ethan shout, followed by a sickening sound, the kind that made her stomach twist.
She kept running. Her breath tore through her throat as she climbed, each step a blur of motion and fear. When she finally burst out onto the street, the cold night air hit her like a slap.
She didn't stop until she was three blocks away. Then, beneath a streetlamp that buzzed faintly, she doubled over, chest heaving, hands shaking.
The folder was still in her arms, crumpled but intact. She opened it slightly, scanning the first page again to assure herself it was real. The ink smudged beneath her damp fingers. She swallowed hard, her mind racing.
Ethan's frightened face flashed before her eyes. His voice. If anyone finds out I'm talking to you, I'll be finished.
He had been right.
Claire pressed the folder to her chest and forced herself to think. What she held could expose Dominic, and possibly Leo. Yet the timing, the location, the message from "E." It all felt too deliberate. Too easy.
Her gaze lifted toward the distant tower, its upper floors gleaming faintly through the haze.
Leo knew.
The thought landed like a stone in her gut. He had known about the meeting, about Ethan, about her desperation for answers. He always seemed two steps ahead, calculating, watching.
But was this his doing, or Dominic's trap?
A siren wailed in the distance, somewhere deep in the city. Claire stood still, listening. She couldn't go home. Not yet. If Leo had orchestrated this, showing up at her apartment might be exactly what he expected.
She needed time. She needed to think.
She turned down a narrow side street, keeping to the shadows. Her hands still trembled as she slipped the folder into her satchel. She felt the weight of it like a heartbeat.
The evidence inside could topple giants. But it had already cost Ethan his life, of that, she was almost certain.
Every instinct screamed that she should hand it over to the authorities, or to her editor, or to anyone who could take the burden from her. But Claire's mind, sharp even through the haze of fear, whispered something else.
If Leo knew, then he's playing for something bigger.
She thought of his voice, low and deliberate, the day in his office. Stories are power, he had said. She had written that line in her notes without realizing what it meant. Now she understood.
She wasn't just uncovering a story anymore. She was inside it, woven into the fabric of something larger and far more dangerous.
Claire drew a slow breath and began to walk again, her pace steadying. She no longer felt entirely afraid. There was fear, yes, but beneath it pulsed a strange clarity.
If Leo Westbrook had set the board, she would learn how to play on it.
And if Dominic was behind Ethan's death, then she would find out how deep his reach truly went.
The war between the brothers had drawn her in before she realized it. But she wouldn't retreat now.
She looked back once toward the tower, its lights flickering against the fog.
Whatever secrets were buried in its walls, she would drag them into the open, even if it meant burning with them.
Tonight had changed everything.
She wasn't just chasing a story anymore.
She was standing in the crossfire of a war, and this time, there was no way out but through.