Chapter 6 #2
Migrated shipment logs fill the screen, followed by older transaction summaries and inventory sheets from years ago.
Nothing new or harmful. Everything buried deep enough that no one looks at it unless they’re trying to solve ancient accounting mysteries.
The files are outdated, irrelevant to current operations, leftovers from years past that serve no purpose except historical record-keeping.
They’re perfect. I open one of the older files and double-click it until it fills the screen.
Columns of numbers fill my vision, endless rows of data that blur together.
My throat tightens, the muscles constricting until breathing becomes an active effort.
I can't give Ray anything real. If Luka pays the price because of me, I'll never be able to live with myself.
But an outdated log won't hurt him. It'll look legitimate enough to satisfy Ray while protecting Luka from real damage.
I copy several folders onto the USB drive I tucked into my pocket last night. The small click of the port connecting sounds louder than it should, echoing in the quiet office. I wince and glance toward the door, half expecting to see someone standing there, but the hallway remains empty.
The progress bar crawls across the screen, a thin blue line that moves agonizingly slowly.
I watch the percentage climb, one digit at a time, my foot tapping against the floor in small, nervous movements I can't control.
My leg bounces with excess energy that has nowhere else to go.
Ten percent. Twenty percent. Each increment feels like an eternity.
When the last folder transfers, I open one of the copied files and begin altering it.
My fingers fly across the keyboard, muscle memory from years of managing Bean & Bloom's records taking over.
I change dates and push timestamps forward by years.
I move delivery schedules into the last few days, creating a false sense of immediacy.
I swap out the names of old locations for ones Luka's mentioned recently in passing, like the warehouse district and the rail yard.
It looks real enough to pass a quick glance, yet harmless enough to protect him.
The data is meaningless, useless for anyone trying to damage his actual operations.
My chest tightens as I work, unease creeping through me like cold water rising. The cursor blinks on the screen like a heartbeat. Each edit feels like a betrayal, even though I'm doing everything I can to prevent one. The irony isn't lost on me, lying to protect the person I'm lying to.
“I'm sorry,” I murmur under my breath, though I don't know who I'm apologizing to. The words hang in the air, unanswered. Maybe Luka. Maybe Hope. Maybe myself for becoming someone who sneaks and lies and manipulates. I never wanted to be this person.
When I finish, I carefully eject the USB drive, and the computer makes a soft chime as I disconnect it.
I slide the drive into my bra, tucking it beneath the band so it lies flat against my skin.
The metal is cold at first, foreign and uncomfortable, but the warmth of my body heats it quickly.
I adjust my shirt, making sure nothing shows, no outline or bulge that might give me away.
The laptop closes with a soft click, and I return it to its exact position on the desk.
I check everything twice, making sure the angle matches, that the distance from the edge is the same, and nothing looks disturbed.
My palms leave faint marks on the polished wood surface, and I wipe them away quickly with the sleeve of my sleep shirt.
I check the desk for any other sign of disturbance before rising.
My legs feel weak, my knees threatening to buckle, and my palms sweat as if I've run a marathon in silence. The adrenaline flooding my system makes everything feel too bright. I wipe my hands on my thighs, trying to dry them, but they remain damp and clammy.
I leave the office and close the door behind me, leaning back against it as my pulse races. The wood is solid against my spine. I shouldn't be breathing this hard over something so simple, but my lungs can't seem to get enough air.
I shouldn't be shaking like this. But I did it. The deed is done, and there's no taking it back. Now I have to get it out of the cabin without anyone noticing.
Footsteps echo upstairs, the sound of nails clicking against hardwood, and I look up quickly.
Vega stands at the landing, ears perked forward, and his eyes fixed on me with an expression that feels too perceptive.
Dogs are supposed to sense things, emotions, and intentions, and right now I feel completely transparent under his gaze.
“I know,” I whisper, my voice so soft I hardly hear it. “I'm working on it.”
He descends slowly and nudges my leg with his nose. The touch is gentle and reassuring. I stroke the top of his head with trembling fingers, my hand unsteady against his fur. His warmth seeps into my skin, providing comfort I don't deserve.
“Good boy,” I breathe, the words sticking in my throat. “You always know.”
My next challenge waits in the kitchen drawer where Luka stores mail supplies.
I pull it open slowly, the wood sliding on its track with barely a whisper.
Inside, I find a small, padded envelope tucked beneath a stack of plain white ones.
My fingers shake as I peel the adhesive strip, the paper tearing slightly in my haste.
I wrap the USB in folded paper, stuff it in the center, wrap it carefully so it doesn't slide, then tape the edges for reinforcement.
The tape sticks to my fingers, frustrating me, and I have to peel it off twice before getting it right.
I address it the way Ray instructed, copying the information from memory, my handwriting shakier than usual.
It looks like any other business envelope. Maybe too neat, but it's close enough to pass without raising questions. I turn it over in my hands, examining it from every angle, searching for anything that might look suspicious. Nothing stands out. It's perfectly ordinary.
I pull out my phone and compose a quick text to Jenny, my thumbs moving across the screen easily. Hey, are you free this morning? I have a package that needs to go to the post office, and I'm stuck at the cabin. Could you swing by and drop it off for me?
Her response comes back almost immediately, three dots appearing before her message pops up. Of course! I don't have class until this afternoon. I can be there in about 30 minutes. Need anything else while I'm out?
Relief floods through me, loosening some of the tension in my shoulders. Just the package. Thank you so much.
No problem! See you soon.
I set the phone down on the counter and grip the envelope one last time before sliding it beneath a normal stack of mail, right where it looks like it belongs. Just another piece of outgoing correspondence in a pile of bills and letters.
Thirty minutes feels too long and not long enough.
I pace the kitchen, my bare feet padding back and forth across the cool hardwood.
Vega watches me from his spot near the hearth, his head tilting occasionally as if questioning my restless movement.
I smooth my hair with one hand, tucking loose strands behind my ear.
I adjust my shirt three times. I rearrange the mail stack twice to make sure the envelope looks natural.
Finally, a knock echoes at the front door, the sound cutting through the quiet cabin. My heart jerks into my throat, beating so hard I can feel it in my ears. Vega barks softly, as if announcing it, his tail wagging slightly.
A maid steps out from the hallway to answer the door.
When she opens it, Jenny stands on the porch with a bright grin, bundled in an oversized knit sweater.
The cream-colored fabric hangs past her hips, and she's paired it with dark jeans and boots.
Her dark hair is pulled up in a loose bun, a few strands escaping to frame her face, and she waves lightly as she steps inside.
“Hey,” she greets, brushing the cold from her sleeves with quick movements. Her cheeks are pink from the outside air. “I told Albert I’d only be here two minutes, and I swear he smiled at me. At least I think he did. Hard to tell with him.”
I laugh softly while the maid closes the door behind her, sealing the cold outside. “That's impressive, honestly. He's not exactly the warm and welcoming type.”
Vega pads up with a lazy sway of his tail, his body language relaxed and friendly. Jenny bends to scratch behind his ears like she has at the café a hundred times, her fingers working through his thick fur. He nuzzles her hand, leaning into the touch, and her smile softens with genuine affection.
“He's the only reason I don't panic walking up the driveway,” she murmurs, giving him one final pat before straightening.
“Same,” I breathe and head toward the kitchen, Jenny’s footsteps falling in behind mine. Vega trots after her and leans into her hand when she reaches down. His tail sways in slow, happy arcs while I rest against the counter.
She straightens and looks around the kitchen, her eyes roaming over the details. “So, you mentioned a package?”
My fingers tighten slightly on the edge of the counter, gripping the smooth surface. I reach for the stack of mail and slide the padded envelope out from under it with what I hope is a calm, natural movement. My heart pounds, but I keep my expression neutral.
“This.” I lift it between us and hold it out. “Insurance stuff and some business records for Bean & Bloom. The timing on the claim is tight, and I don't know when I’ll be able to get into town. Can you drop it off at the post office while you're out?”
“Of course.” She steps closer and takes it without hesitation, tucking it under her arm like it's nothing important.
The sight of it pressed to her side twists something in my chest, a mix of relief and dread.
“I'm heading into town anyway. Want me to hand it over the counter or put it in the big drop box?”
“Over the counter is better,” I answer, rubbing my thumb along the seam of my leggings in a nervous gesture I can't quite stop. “They need to scan it for tracking.”
“No problem.” She rests a warm hand briefly on my arm, her touch gentle and reassuring. Her brows pinch together with genuine concern. “You holding up okay?”
I nod, though the motion feels tight and unconvincing. “Doing my best.”
“You look tired,” she observes gently, her eyes scanning my face. “But better than you did earlier this week. Less pale, at least.”
Her kindness sinks into my chest, making the guilt heavier. I force a small smile that doesn't quite reach my eyes. “It helps having you swing by. Makes things feel a little more normal.”
She bumps her shoulder lightly against mine, a gesture that's become familiar between us over the years. “I'll keep checking on you until you’re back to your old self. Tell Luka he better get used to me.”
The thought pulls a laugh out of me even as anxiety curls deeper inside, wrapping around my ribs and squeezing. “If he starts smiling at you, we’ll both know something’s wrong.”
Jenny gives the envelope a quick pat, the paper crinkling softly against her side. “I'll get this mailed and send you a picture of the receipt, so you know it's done.”
The air in my lungs tightens for a moment, but I breathe slowly until it loosens. “Thank you. I really appreciate it.”
She studies me for a second longer, her expression softening. “You don't have to thank me. You've done so much for me over the years, Sage. This is easy.”
Before I can respond, she reaches out and gives me a quick hug, her arms warm and familiar around my shoulders. The embrace smells like her vanilla body spray and the cold mountain air. I hold on just a heartbeat longer than I should, drawing comfort from the contact.
“I'll check in after my errands,” she murmurs near my shoulder.
“I'll be here.”
She pulls back and nudges Vega with her foot affectionately, bending slightly to ruffle his ears one more time. “Guard her, okay?”
Vega answers with a low chuff, his tail sweeping the floor once in agreement.
Jenny smiles, then heads toward the door, pulling it open and stepping back into the cold. The guard outside nods to her as she passes. She waves back with her usual bright energy and moves briskly toward her car, her boots crunching across the gravel drive.
I watch from the doorway until she drives past the gate, the vehicle disappearing down the winding road. The sound of her engine fades gradually, swallowed by distance and the thick pine forest surrounding the property.
Only when she disappears completely does a tremor run through me so suddenly that I have to grip the counter for balance. My hands shake against the cool surface, and my vision blurs slightly. Vega noses my thigh, pulling me back from the edge of panic.
“It's done,” I whisper, though the words scrape on the way out, rough and painful. “I hope I made the right choice.”
His ears tilt back, and he presses closer, his solid presence the only thing keeping me upright. I close my eyes and breathe into the space where fear and guilt twist together in a knot I can't undo.