Chapter 6: The Shadow on the Sidewalk
The drizzle turned into a steady, freezing mist that clung to the wool of my coat. Each breath plumed white in the damp air as I picked up my pace, turning sharply onto Elm Street. The residential blocks were quiet, lined with brick row houses and shadowed alleyways where overflowing trash cans sat behind chain-link fences. Behind me, the rhythmic, heavy scrape of leather-soled shoes on wet concrete matched my stride step for step.
I paused beneath the amber glow of a flickering streetlamp and spun around, my fingers curling tightly into the pockets of my coat.
A tall figure stepped out from beneath the canopy of a dormant oak tree. He wore a heavy black suit that looked dry despite the drizzle, his broad shoulders squared and his face cast in shadow. It was Marcus, the senior guard who had flanked Julian Vance at the head of the dining table.
"You're making a mistake, Miss Hayes," Marcus said, his voice a low, gravelly baritone that cut cleanly through the hiss of traffic from the main avenue a block away. "Mr. Vance doesn't like loose ends. And he especially doesn't like employees who think they can walk out of corporate headquarters with company documents."
"I didn't steal anything from his desk," I said, my voice shaking slightly despite my best efforts to keep it steady. I forced my chin up, meeting his cold, unreadable gaze. "I picked up a public filing that was left out in the open. If your boss is so concerned about his business practices, maybe he should keep his desk cleaner."
Marcus took two slow steps closer, the light catching the sharp angle of his jaw. "Mr. Vance offered a fair buyout. Arthur is a stubborn old man, and you're a waitress with bills to pay and a lot to lose. Let it go. The Gilded Hearth is coming down, one way or another."
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"Tell your boss I'll see him in court or across the dining room floor," I snapped, turning back toward my building before he could close the distance.
My pulse hammered against my ribs as I jogged the final block to my apartment complex, the heavy iron gate latching behind me with a loud, metallic snap.
