The next night arrived thick with tension.
Emma sat behind her desk, her office dim and silent, except for the ticking of the wall clock. The blinds were shut. The door was locked. Her thoughts, however, refused to be contained.
She hadn't gone home since the break-in. Not that it mattered—home didn't feel like home anymore.
Her phone buzzed.
A single message lit up the screen from an unknown number:
"You want to know why he borrowed the money? Check your mail."
Emma stood instantly, her pulse thundering. She threw on her coat and moved through the office with precision. Outside, the air was crisp, the streets quiet—too quiet.
She made her way to the mailbox at the edge of the building.
Inside: a single, plain white envelope.
No return address. No markings.
She scanned the street. No one. No movement.
She returned to her office and locked the door behind her. Sitting down, she ripped the envelope open with trembling hands.
Inside: a bank statement. A photocopy of a fake passport.
Emma's eyes narrowed as she scanned the statement.
A wire transfer. $250,000—sent from Daniel's personal account to an offshore bank.
Attached was a passport under a different name, but the photo was unmistakable.
Victor Salazar.
Her stomach turned.
Her voice barely made it past her lips. "Oh my God…"
She flipped the paper over.
Stapled to the back was a short note, handwritten in sharp block letters:
"Your husband was leaving you. He knew too much. That's why he's dead."
Emma sat frozen. The words blurred as her thoughts raced.
Daniel… you were trying to run? You were going to disappear—and you never told me?
Her chest tightened. What if the money he borrowed wasn't just debt—but part of a desperate escape?
What if he wasn't just scared?
What if he had been hunted?
Sophia's apartment was warm and quiet, tucked into a quiet brownstone with flickering lamps and tall bookshelves. The city hummed faintly outside the windows, but inside, it was all tension and disbelief.
Emma paced the living room, still clutching the documents.
"He was trying to leave the country," she said, her voice sharp with urgency. "He wired a quarter of a million dollars to an offshore account. And the name on the fake passport?"
She tossed the paper onto the coffee table.
Ryan leaned forward, squinting at the grainy image.
"Victor Salazar," he said grimly.
Sophia's brows shot up. "You think Salazar killed him because he wanted out?"
"Or because Daniel knew something he shouldn't," Emma snapped. "Salazar's name on the passport means either he helped Daniel disappear—or he stopped him."
Ryan leaned back in the chair, his mind ticking through possibilities. "If Daniel was running, that means he was scared. Not of debt collectors. Of something bigger."
Sophia shuffled through the documents. "This isn't just financial. There's a pattern here. Fake IDs, hidden transfers, offshore banking—it screams conspiracy."
Emma clenched her jaw.
"If Salazar was involved, then he holds the truth."
Ryan's eyes met hers.
"Then we need a way to make him talk."
Sophia gave a cautious glance between them. "Salazar isn't just a street thug. If we push too hard, we could end up just like Daniel."
Emma didn't flinch. "Then we don't push."
She held Ryan's gaze, steel in her voice.
"We trap him."
A slow smile spread across Ryan's face. "Now that... I can help with."
Three minds. One plan.
The game had changed.
And Salazar was about to learn what it meant to cross Emma Carter.