Chapter 8 - The Price of Treason
The dimly lit underground garage smelled of damp concrete and motor oil. Elena stepped out, pop the trunk of an unassuming silver hatchback parked nearby, and pulled out two duffel bags containing clothes, forged documents, and burner hardware. Clara stepped out of the truck, her body aching from the physical toll of the last two hours. The adrenaline was beginning to ebb, leaving behind a profound, bone-deep exhaustion.
""The Council isn't a business, Clara,"" Elena explained in a hushed whisper as she tossed her a dark hoodie. ""It’s a syndicate of high-profile executives who launder offshore funds through shell logistics companies. Mark was their golden boy until he started skimming off the top to fund his personal god complex. That drive you're holding contains the encrypted banking routes for thirty-two different accounts.""
Clara pulled the oversized hoodie over her sweater, the zipper cold against her chin. ""I don't care about their money. I just wanted my life back. I wanted him to leave me alone.""
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""You can't negotiate with a rabid dog, and you certainly can't negotiate with men who treat human lives like line items on an audit,"" Elena replied coldly. She popped open a modified laptop on the hood of the car and held out her hand. ""Give it to me. If we can unlock the primary routing codes, we can leak it to federal prosecutors before they find where we're hiding.""
Clara reached into her pocket, hesitating for a fraction of a second. She didn't know Elena. She was Mark's blood, and blood had proven to be poisonous. Before she could hand over the drive, a sharp red laser dot danced across the laptop screen, moving steadily toward Elena's chest.
