For the first time in days, Ronny allowed himself a breath of relief.
“We did the right thing,” he said.
Maya gave a tired smile. “For Margie. And for whoever else they
buried—figuratively or not.”
They crossed the small parking lot to Ronny’s truck, unaware they were
being watched from the other side of the street.
Two blocks away, the man known only as Travis sat behind the wheel
of a black sedan, engine off, eyes narrowed. His phone buzzed once.
A message.
“She has it. Story will drop in 48.”
He stared at the screen. Then deleted the message without responding.
Travis had failed before—but not twice.
This was his last opportunity to contain the damage. Not for money. Not
for pride. For legacy. His employer wasn’t a client anymore. He was
blood.
And that changed everything.
He picked up his phone again and made a call.
The person on the other end answered with a single word: “Yes?”
“I need them quiet. One night. No deaths. No headlines.”
A pause. Then: “Understood.”
He ended the call, tucked the phone into the glovebox, and stepped out of
the car.
He was done waiting.
That night, back at Maya’s house, the two were reviewing the timeline and
backup plans. They had uploaded the scans to three cloud drives and stored the
originals in a safety deposit box earlier that afternoon.
They were cautious, but not careful enough.
At 2:17 a.m., the power went out.
Maya woke first. The sound of gravel shifting in the driveway brought her
to the window. A dark SUV sat idling at the edge of her property—lights off.
“Ronny,” she whispered. “Get up.”
He sat up groggily. “What is it?”
“We’ve got company.”
She moved quickly, stuffing the journal and documents into her shoulder
bag. Ronny grabbed the second flash drive from the desk drawer and slipped it
into his jeans.
Then the knock came.
Not on the front door.
On the back screen—slow and deliberate.
Three taps.
Maya glanced through the glass.
A man in black. Baseball cap. No visible weapon. Face half-shadowed.
He spoke calmly.
“You’ve made your point. We’ve seen the copies. It doesn’t have to go
further.”
Ronny stepped beside her. “We’re past the point of permission.”
The man smiled, just slightly.
“Not here to argue. Just to offer... silence. For both your sakes.”
“Threats?” Maya said flatly.
“Options,” he replied. “You walk away. Let the dust settle. And the wrong
people won’t start asking about your son’s mortgage, or the zoning permit for
your business, Mr. Ellis.”
Ronny’s fists clenched.
The man continued. “You think you’re the first to come close? You’re just
the first who made it this far. Others got smart. Others stayed quiet.”
Maya stepped forward, voice clear. “And now there’s someone else. Kendra
Blue.”
The man hesitated—just a flicker.
“You’re too late,” she said. “It’s already backed up. Already moving. You
can’t stop it. All you can do now is read it when it drops.”
The silence stretched.
Then the man nodded once.
“I’ll report that you’re not persuadable.”
He turned and walked away, disappearing into the dark like smoke.
They didn’t move until they heard the SUV roll off the gravel and fade
into the distance.
Ronny finally spoke. “He won’t be back alone.”
“No,” Maya said. “Next time, it won’t be warnings.”
She reached for her phone.
“It’s time to light the fuse.”
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