Ethan adjusted his tie in the mirror, forcing a calm expression. His heartbeat was a drum roll in his chest, each beat a reminder of the dangerous game he was playing. Tonight had to be perfect. No mistakes. No slips.
Downstairs, the party was in full swing. The grand ballroom of Calloway Industries was alive with the murmur of conversation, the chime of champagne flutes, and the soft hum of a jazz quartet playing in the corner. Ethan could see the crowd through the ornate balcony railing—colleagues, investors, politicians. This wasn’t just a party. It was a power play, a place where alliances were forged over cocktails and secrets traded with a handshake.
And Ethan was keeping the biggest secret of them all.
His fingers brushed against the small, cold object in his pocket. The flash drive. It felt heavier than it should have, as if the weight of what it carried had made it denser, a tiny time bomb waiting to go off. He shouldn’t have taken it. He shouldn’t have even looked.
But he had. And now, he knew things he wasn’t supposed to know.
Taking a steadying breath, he descended the staircase, slipping effortlessly into the crowd. He smiled, nodded, made polite conversation, all while his mind raced. He needed to get out, to leave before anyone noticed something was off. He had already planted his exit strategy—his coat was draped over a chair near the back exit, his car parked discreetly in the underground garage. If he timed it right, he’d be gone before anyone knew he was missing.
But then a hand clamped down on his shoulder.
“Ethan.”
His body went rigid. The voice was smooth, amused, but there was an undertone to it that sent a chill down his spine. He turned to face Mr. Calloway.
“Sir,” Ethan said, keeping his voice light. “Quite the event.”
Calloway, a man in his late fifties with sharp blue eyes and a perpetual smirk, swirled his whiskey. “I’ve noticed you’ve been quiet tonight.”
Ethan forced a chuckle. “Just enjoying the party.”
Calloway studied him for a moment, his gaze piercing, as if he could see through the carefully constructed facade Ethan was wearing. The silence stretched too long, the sounds of the party fading into the background. Then, Calloway smiled.
“Good man,” he said, raising his glass in a mock toast before walking away.
Ethan exhaled slowly, his fingers tightening around his drink. He had to move. Now.
He maneuvered through the crowd, making his way toward the back exit. He could see his coat, just a few steps away. Almost there.
Then he felt it—the unmistakable sensation of being watched.
A glance over his shoulder confirmed his suspicion. A man in a dark suit, unfamiliar, was standing near the bar, staring directly at him. When their eyes met, the man didn’t look away. He simply tilted his head, as if acknowledging that he knew exactly what Ethan was trying to do.
Ethan’s stomach twisted. He had been made.
He didn’t wait to find out how much the man knew. In one smooth motion, he grabbed his coat and strode toward the exit, his pulse pounding. He pushed through the doors into the cool night air, his breath visible in the crisp autumn chill.
He barely made it two steps before another figure emerged from the shadows.
“Going somewhere?”
Ethan froze.
The man was tall, lean, his face partially obscured by the dim lighting of the alleyway. He wasn’t the same man from the bar. That meant there were at least two of them watching him. Possibly more.
Ethan forced a smile. “Just needed some air.”
The man smirked. “Sure you did.”
Ethan’s mind raced. He could run, but that would only confirm their suspicions. He needed to act as if he had nothing to hide.
He reached into his pocket, fingers brushing against the flash drive. The information on it was damning—evidence of Calloway’s offshore accounts, bribery, and something even worse, something Ethan couldn’t unsee. He had taken it intending to expose the truth. Now, it might get him killed.
The man took a slow step closer. “Why don’t you come back inside?”
Ethan glanced toward the street. His car was only a block away. If he could just—
A sharp pain exploded in his side. He gasped, staggering forward. The man had struck fast, a precise blow to his ribs. Not enough to cripple him, but enough to send a warning.
“Bad idea,” the man said, voice almost casual. “Let’s go.”
Ethan had no choice. He allowed himself to be guided back inside, his mind racing. If they had caught him, why hadn’t they taken the flash drive yet? Did they not know he had it? Or were they waiting for something?
Calloway was waiting when they returned. He was still holding his whiskey, still wearing that smug smile.
“Ethan,” he said pleasantly. “I was hoping we could have a chat.”
Ethan swallowed hard, every instinct screaming at him to run. He was trapped. But he still had the drive, still had a sliver of hope.
Calloway gestured toward a chair. “Sit.”
Ethan hesitated. He could feel the weight of the two men behind him, their presence pressing down like a vice.
Slowly, he sat.
Calloway sighed, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “You should’ve walked away, Ethan. Some things are better left buried.”
Ethan’s grip tightened around the flash drive in his pocket. He still had an ace up his sleeve.
What Calloway didn’t know was that Ethan had already sent a copy of the files to someone he trusted. If anything happened to him, the truth would come out.
Calloway’s smile faltered slightly, as if sensing the shift in Ethan’s confidence.
Ethan met his gaze, finally steady. “I guess we’ll see about that.”
