Chapter 10 - The Elevator Trap
“Move!” I shouted, clutching the stolen ledger to my chest as I sprinted out of Grant’s office into the main corridor.
Mr. Blackwood stayed right on my heels, his leather briefcase clutched tightly in both hands, his vintage wingtips clicking furiously against the linoleum.
Ahead of us, the central elevator doors were still lit, but as we reached the bank, the digital floor indicators flashed red, and the doors began to slide shut, blocking our exit.
“The service stairs!” I yelled, veering sharply to the left toward the heavy fire exit door marked with an illuminated red sign.
I threw my weight against the push bar. The heavy metal door swung open, revealing the cavernous, echoing concrete stairwell descending thirty-four floors down to the parking garage.
As we plunged into the stairwell, the sound of shouting voices echoed from the floor above us.
“Hey! Stop right there! Security!”
Footsteps pounded against the concrete steps behind us—heavy, fast, and closing the distance rapidly. Private security guards weren't just patrolling the building; they were armed, and Richard Vance didn't leave loose ends.
“Go, Mr. Blackwood! Keep going!” I urged, taking the metal stairs two at a time, my heels clicking sharply against the steps.
We reached the tenth-floor landing when my ankle turned on a loose rubber tread. I stumbled hard, skinning my palm against the rough concrete wall, the ledger slipping from my fingers and sliding down the metal flight below.
Before I could reach for it, a heavy, gloved hand clamped down firmly onto my shoulder from behind.
“Gotcha,” a gruff security guard growled, spinning me around against the concrete wall.
Mr. Blackwood stopped mid-flight, turning back with his briefcase raised like a shield. “Unhand her immediately, you reckless thug! That is the primary equity holder of this entire property!”
The guard sneered, pulling a heavy plastic zip-tie from his belt. “Mr. Vance sends his regards.”
Before the zip-tie could wrap around my wrists, the stairwell door above us flew open with a violent crash.
A tall man in a dark trench coat stepped onto the landing, his shadow stretching down the stairs. It wasn't Richard.
It was Detective Miller of the municipal police department, his service weapon drawn and pointed squarely at the guard’s chest.
“Drop your hands, step away from Mrs. Vance, or I’ll put you down where you stand,” the detective barked, his voice echoing off the concrete walls.
The guard froze, slowly loosening his grip on my shoulder and raising his hands into the air.
May you like
I caught my breath, leaning against the cold concrete wall, and pulled the master flash drive and ledger from my coat pocket. I held them up toward the detective, a fierce, unbreakable smile crossing my face.
“Detective,” I said smoothly. “I think you’ll want to confiscate this. We found the missing evidence.”
