Chapter 8 - The Eleven-Minute Ghost
Emergency lights came on red.
Dominic shoved me behind the conference table.
A gunshot cracked in the hall.
Marco drew a backup weapon.
"Stay down."
Another shot.
Glass broke.
Then the main lights returned.
Harris was gone.
The interview-room door across the hall stood open.
One guard lay on his side clutching his shoulder.
Dominic swore.
"Seal everything."
Marco ran.
I did not wait for permission.
I ran the other way.
Back to the staff wing.
Back to the apartment where Michael's things still sat in two boxes I had never been able to throw away.
The lock on my door had been replaced overnight.
I used the temporary key.
Inside, every drawer was open.
Someone had searched the apartment.
My knees went weak.
The boxes were still under the bed.
One had been cut open.
Old shirts.
Work boots.
A cracked phone.
Nothing.
I dumped the second box onto the floor.
Receipts.
Screwdrivers.
A flashlight.
Michael carried that flashlight everywhere.
I picked it up.
Too heavy.
The battery cap resisted.
I twisted harder.
Two batteries slid out.
So did a microSD card wrapped in electrical tape.
My hands shook so badly I dropped it twice.
I shoved it into my laptop adapter.
Three folders appeared.
SYSTEM.
LEDGERS.
IF I DON'T COME HOME.
My chest hurt.
I clicked the last one.
Michael filled the screen.
Same brown eyes Lily had.
Same crooked smile.
He looked tired.
"Anna, if you're watching this, I'm sorry."
I covered my mouth.
"There's an administrator account inside Moretti security that doesn't exist on paper. It can remove footage and rewrite door logs. Username M-11."
I stopped breathing.
"I traced it to a local terminal, but somebody knows I'm looking. I keep getting eleven-minute gaps every time I get close. That's the safe window. Eleven minutes before the checksum catches a missing block."
A floorboard creaked behind me.
I froze.
No one spoke.
I turned the laptop volume down.
Michael continued.
"If anything happens, the account matters more than the person using it. Because he's not just stealing from Dominic. He's preparing something bigger."
The next file opened automatically.
Security footage.
Timestamp two years earlier.
2:06 a.m.
A man entered the Moretti control room.
Broad shoulders.
Dark coat.
He looked directly at the camera.
Marco Bellini.
The doorknob behind me moved.
I closed the laptop.
Too late.
The door opened.
Marco stepped inside.
Blood dotted one cuff of his shirt.
He locked the door.
My phone lay on the bed six feet away.
His eyes went to it.
Then to me.
"You shouldn't be down here."
I backed toward the dresser.
"Neither should you."
He looked at the laptop.
"What did you find?"
"Nothing."
"Anna."
His hand settled near his jacket.
"Don't make me insult your intelligence."
I grabbed the flashlight.
He almost smiled.
"You're going to hit me with that?"
"If I have to."
"Michael used to carry it."
My grip tightened.
"You remember."
"I remember a lot about Michael."
"Including the night he died?"
The smile disappeared.
He took one step.
I lifted the flashlight.
"Stay there."
"Play the file."
"No."
"Play it."
I opened the laptop.
Michael's face returned.
Marco watched the video without blinking.
When the old security clip showed him entering the control room, his shoulders lowered.
Not surprise.
Relief.
Like hiding had finally become more tiring than being caught.
He reached behind him and turned the deadbolt.
"You weren't supposed to find that."
My throat closed.
"Did you kill Michael?"
Marco looked at the screen.
Then at me.
"No."
A beat.
May you like
"But I know who did."
