Chapter 2 - The Whispered Name
The name slipped from Cali's pale lips like a death rattle, hanging heavily in the bright, sterile air of the penthouse.
"David," she rasped, her fingernails digging deep into Marcus’s wrist until the skin turned white.
Marcus froze, his breathing catching in his throat. David was his business partner, his oldest friend, and the man currently hosting a multi-million-dollar charity gala three floors down. The implication slammed into Marcus with the force of a physical blow. He slowly turned his head away from Cali, his dark eyes locking onto Julianne with a chilling, predatory focus.
Julianne shook her head violently, taking another backward step that brought the sharp heel of her red shoe dangerously close to Cali’s outstretched hand. "No! She’s delirious, Marcus! David hasn't been up here in hours! You have to believe me, I walked in right after it happened just like you did!"
"Stop lying, Julianne," Marcus snarled, his voice dropping into a dangerous register that commanded absolute silence. He stood up slowly, towering over her in the open space. "The security feeds sync to my phone. I know every person who entered this corridor today."
Julianne swallowed hard, her throat bobbing as panic threatened to completely unravel her composure. She reached out, her fingers trembling as she clutched at the lapel of his dark jacket. "The feeds can be altered, Marcus. Somebody edited the server logs. Look at the timestamp on your screen right now. I swear to you, I'm trying to save us both."
Marcus pulled away from her touch as if she carried a plague. He pulled his smartphone from his black trousers, his thumb swiping furiously across the cracked glass screen. The application loaded, showing the live feed of the foyer. But the timeline was a jagged line of red error messages and missing blocks. Someone had scrubbed the last twenty minutes of footage clean.
"Who had the override code?" Marcus demanded, taking a menacing step forward.
May you like
Julianne opened her mouth to reply, her eyes wide and pleading, when a sharp, metallic click echoed from the heavy white double doors behind them, followed by the slow, deliberate turn of the brass handle.
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