Two black-suited men are standing like twin statues, with the same athletic build, short haircuts, and dark ties. One is Black, clean-shaven, and calm, like he has done this a hundred times. The other, white with a closely trimmed beard, has a tighter jaw, like he is already anticipating trouble.
The clean-shaven one steps forward, flipping open his FBI badge with a smooth, practiced motion. "Ms. Anaya Brooks?"
I feel like warmth drained from my face. "Yeah?" My grip tightens around my phone. My voice comes out unsure.
The beard agent joins his partner, standing just behind his shoulder. "We need you to come with us. There are a few questions regarding a financial investigation."
I am still confused. I blink. "Wait...question? What investigation? My eyes fall on Anielle, head of legal, who is standing near the front desk awkwardly, arms crossed, shoulders tense. She is avoiding eye contact with me.
Danielle's voice floats over, barely audible. "It's...uh, protocol. You are not under arrest."
I turn to her with furrowed brows. "Then why the fuck are there cops here?" I am trying to be steady, but anger and fear are already elbowing their way in.
The clean-shaven one is holding out a paper, some kind of internal authorization with company letterhead and legal jargon I can't quite focus on. "This isn't an arrest, Ms. Brooks. You are being escorted to legal for questioning. You can call a lawyer if you want."
I let out a sharp breath, half a laugh, and more disbelief than humor. "I don't need a damn lawyer. I didn't do anything."
The beard one shrugs. "Then you have got nothing to worry about."
My heart pounds relentlessly in my chest. The hallway seems too bright, the coffee in my hand suddenly too hot. My phone buzzes again in my purse, probably another client or maybe Cole. I don't check.
Both agents are waiting for me.
I look around the office, at the heads ducking low, the silence, and the space that suddenly feels hostile. I straighten my back.
"Let's get this over with," I mutter and follow them down the hallway.
The black SUV rolls to a stop outside a building in a suburb. One of the new towers has zero finishes on the outside. I am sitting stiff behind both agents, my hands clenched tight in my lap. No cuffs, but the vibe is saying this isn't just coffee and a chat.
I clear my throat. "This is not an FBI building."
The clean-shaven nods. "This is our private offsite location."
Inside, the building smells like newly polished furniture and cold air. They lead me through a lobby, past a security desk where the guy barely looks up, and into a private elevator that hums to the 14th floor.
The room they bring me into consists of a giant wooden table and black leather chairs. Water bottles lined up on a table, but the tension made my skin itch. The bearded one gestures to a chair. "My name is Agent Collins. Have a seat, Ms. Brooks."
I sit. Smooth my blazer and swallow hard.
The clean-shaven one placed a slim manila folder on the table. "My name is Agent Reed, and we are here to go over some documents. No formal charges at this time. Just questions."
"Right." I nod, trying my best not to sound like I am choking. "So let's do that."
Agent Reed flips open the folder and slides the first sheet towards me. A forged invoice. My name is typed at the bottom. Then another, an email from me to a client I haven't spoken to in months, authorizing a wire transfer. Then more. contracts. Digital approvals. Bank logs. All pointing straight to me.
I blink. "This is...this isn't real. I never signed any of this."
Agent Collins asks, tilting his head. "You are saying it's forged?"
"I am saying I don't even know half these clients. I don't talk about money directly. I have a damn team for that." I hate it that my voice is cracking.
Agent Reed turns the page. "You recognize this?"
My eyes freeze after scanning the doc. My breath was stuck in my throat.
Ethan's signature at the bottom of a client authorization form. An approval tied to one of the bogus transfers.
I shake my head. "This is my stepbrother's signature. He must have made a mistake."
Agent Reed looks into my eyes. "Ethan Brooks is the one who informed us about the fraud."
I nod, but it is a lie. My whole world is tilting. No way, my stepbrother, the one who has helped me recover when my mom died after our dad. Who cooks terrible hangover eggs and makes fun of my work calls would sign off on this without saying a damn word.
I lean back and rub my temples. Agent Reed is watching me. "You okay?"
Agent Collins pulls up a video on a monitor. The security feed is grainy but clear enough to see myself; I am swiping my access card to the executive vault. Date and time stamped. 2:06 PM, last Friday.
My mouth falls open. "I wasn't even in the building that day. I was with Cole Bennett, my fiancé. At the Ritz Hotel, room 912. Check the guest logs."
Agent Collins shifts uncomfortably. "Can you call him?"
I nod and dial Cole. One ring. Two. Then a robotic voice:
This number is no longer in service.
"What the hell?" I stare at the screen.
I dial again. Same thing. Cole...gone. Vanished.
Both agents are looking at me with tons of questions, but I request them to let me make another call, and this time I dial Dylan. He is a tech guy; he can resolve this issue in a second because this video must have been forged.
The moment he picks up my call. "Dylan." I breathe. "Oh my God, I need your help."
Dylan says flatly. "Anaya, I heard."
I swallow, holding my phone tighter. "This is insane. The feds are showing me invoices with my name, forged emails, and transfers. I didn't do any of it. They even showed me a video of me accessing a vault, but I was not in the office at that time.
More silence.
"Dylan? My voice starts to crack again. "Can you come here and tell them the video has been tampered with?"
Dylan exhales. "I can't get involved."
I blink in disbelief. "What?"
"I am sorry, Anaya. This is messy. I have got too much going on in my own life. I don't want to be dragged into this."
"Dylan, your dad worked for my dad in this very firm." I snap, heart thudding. "How can you do this to me? You are practically family. You grew up in my house."
"I know," he says emotionless. "But I gotta go."
Click. The line goes dead.
My stomach twists. The vault footage. Dylan's sudden cold shoulder. Cole is going off-grid. Ethan's signature. My mind is racing, connecting dots that never should have existed. I have no idea since when they have been plotting against me.
This is a sabotage. This is personal.
I thought they were my people. They are using everything against me.
And the worst part is.
It is working.