Part 3: The Audio Log
The microchip felt heavy in my palm, a tiny metal anchor pulling me back into the violent world I had spent five years running from.
“We need a laptop,” I said, looking past Grant toward Owen.
Owen didn’t hesitate. He pulled a sleek, encrypted tactical tablet from his leather folio and slid it across the marble table. “It’s a secure reader, Claire. Isolated from any network. Plug it in.”
I slid the microchip into the side port of the tablet. A loading bar flickered on the screen, followed by a folder labeled E_Crowe_Evidence.
Vanessa lunged again, this time aiming for the tablet, but Grant grabbed her wrist with a grip like iron. He twisted her arm back just enough to force her down into her chair, his eyes blazing with fury.
“Sit down,” Grant commanded. “If there is proof on this drive that you murdered Elena, I won’t just call off the wedding. I will feed you to the wolves myself.”
“You wouldn’t dare!” Vanessa gasped, her voice cracking with panic. “Our fathers signed the treaty! The board will destroy your shipping empire if you break this alliance!”
“Let them try,” Grant muttered, his eyes glued to the screen as I double-clicked the first file.
An audio log began to play. The speaker was Elena Crowe—Vanessa’s sister, and the woman the syndicate claimed had died of a sudden medical emergency four years ago. Her voice filled the quiet bakery room, clear and trembling with terror.
“If you’re listening to this, Vanessa has locked me in the east wing. She found out I was going to hand the ledger over to Grant to expose our father’s money laundering. She’s coming up the stairs now. She says it will look like an accident…”
A sharp scream cut through the audio, followed by the sickening sound of a heavy fall and a dull thud. Then, silence.
Lily whimpered, hiding her face in the folds of my apron. I knelt down, wrapping my arms around her tightly, burying her face so she wouldn't have to listen to any more of the nightmare.
Grant stared at Vanessa, his face turning an icy, terrifying shade of pale. Every ounce of warmth vanished from his eyes. He looked at her not as a reluctant fiancé, but as a predator staring down a cornered animal.
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“You killed your own sister,” Grant whispered.
“She was weak!” Vanessa shrieked, tears of rage cutting through her makeup. She stood up, pulling a small silver-plated revolver from her designer handbag and pointing it straight at my head. “And you’re all going to die here today anyway! My father’s men are already outside!”
