Three
1817 Words
Raven:
My hands are shaking.
I press them flat against my thighs, forcing steadiness into my fingers before I touch anything in Adrian Lockwood’s office. Two weeks of playing the perfect assistant, and now I’m finally here. If I get caught…
No. I won’t get caught.
I photographed the file labels last week, I managed to take some pictures before voices in the hallway sent me scrambling. But I saw it. “Confidential Harrington Merger Documents.”
The folder sits on his desk now, right where he left it.
The security camera in the corner is angled toward the elevators. I checked repeatedly. But there could be hidden cameras.
My phone is already out and my camera ready.
I just need a few minutes.
I reach for the folder and hear the elevator ding.
Male voices drift down the hallway.
Shit.
I grab the folder, flip it open, and start taking pictures immediately. The camera makes soft clicking sounds with each shot.
The voices are right outside and
the door opens.
I’m standing three feet from his desk, with my phone in myhand and the folder open in front of me.
Adrian stops in the doorway.
Our eyes meet.
For one infinite second, neither of us moves.
Then my training kicks in. I close the folder with steady hands, set it down exactly where it was, and arrange my face calmly.
“Mr. Lockwood. Good morning.”
His gaze drops to my phone. Then to the folder. Then back to my face.
“What are you doing in my office, Ms. Stone?”
His voice is flat like he's calculating something.
Behind him, I get a glimpse of blonde hair and designer heels. Anastasia.
“I came in early to set up your morning briefing,” I say, gesturing to his empty desk. “But I realized I’d left the files at my station. I was just heading back out.”
“With your phone out.”
“I was checking your calendar. Making sure I had your morning schedule correct before printing the briefing packets.”
His eyes narrow. “My calendar is accessible from your desk.”
“Of course. I should have…”
“Your phone. Give it to me.”
My stomach drops. “Sir?”
“Company policy when accessing confidential files.” He extends his hand. “I need to verify you were checking my calendar and nothing else.”
Behind him, Anastasia watches with obvious interest.
I have three seconds to decide.
Give him the phone, but the photos uploaded to my encrypted cloud the moment I took them. He’ll see the camera app was open, but not what I photographed.
Or I refuse and confirm his suspicions immediately.
I unlock the phone and hand it to him.
He taps the screen. His jaw tightens as he sees the camera app open.
“Explain this.”
“I took photos of the weekly schedule board in the break room earlier. For reference.” I keep my voice steady. “I can show you—”
“Don’t.” He hands the phone back. “In the future, you don’t enter my office before I arrive. You don’t touch anything on my desk. And you keep your phone at your station during work hours. Are we clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Is there a problem?” Anastasia’s voice cuts in.
“No problem.” Adrian’s tone is ice. “Ms. Stone was just leaving.”
I move toward the door. Toward him.
He doesn’t step aside.
I have to angle my body to slip past, close enough that my sleeve brushes his arm.
He goes absolutely still.
Our eyes meet for a fraction of a second.
Then Anastasia’s voice breaks the moment. “Adrian, darling, who is this?”
I turn. Anastasia Harrington stands there, more beautiful than her photos and twice as cold. She looks at me the way she looked at me eight years ago.
“My new secretary,” Adrian says. “Raven Stone.”
“How quaint.” Anastasia extends two fingers, not quite a handshake. “Adrian goes through assistants so quickly. I wonder what makes you think you’ll be different.”
I take her fingers briefly.
“I intend to exceed expectations, Ms. Harrington.”
“Mm.” She turns to Adrian, angling her body to exclude me. “Darling, we need to discuss the engagement party. Mother has selected the venue—”
“Not now, Anastasia.”
Her smile tightens. “It will only take a moment. The invitations—”
“I said not now.”
The temperature drops ten degrees.
Anastasia’s jaw clenches. Then she turns to me with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.
“Ms. Stone, would you mind giving us a moment? I need to speak with my fiancé privately.”
I look at Adrian. He’s staring at Anastasia with barely concealed contempt, but he doesn’t contradict her.
“Of course.” I slip past them both and return to my desk.
Through the glass walls of his office, I watch them. Anastasia follows him inside, closing the door. She moves around his desk and puts her hands on his shoulders.
He goes rigid.
She leans down, whispers something close to his ear.
He stands abruptly, putting the desk between them. She stumbles back a step.
His mouth moves—words I can’t hear through the glass.
Her face contorts with rage before she masks it with that practiced smile.
She says something else. He shakes his head.
Then she reaches for his hand.
He pulls back like she’s burned him.
Anastasia’s face goes pale.
She turns and storms toward the door.
I’m back at my desk, typing, when she emerges. She doesn’t slam the door, but it’s close.
She stops at my desk.
I look up. “Can I help you with something, Ms. Harrington?”
She leans down at me. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but let me be very clear. Adrian Lockwood is mine. He has been since we were twelve years old. Our families have an arrangement.”
She straightens, looking down at me.
“The last assistant who looked at Adrian the way you did this morning? She’s working retail in Portland now, her career is completely over and references are worthless with one phone call from me.”
She smooths her skirt.
“You’re too new. Too eager. You’ll make a mistake, and when you do, I’ll make sure it’s your last time here.”
I meet her eyes steadily. “I’m just here to do my job, Ms. Harrington.”
She walks toward the elevator, each step sharp with fury.
I watch her go, my heart pounding.
She still doesn’t recognize me. Eight years of transformation, and she looks right through me.
Good. Let her underestimate me.
The morning passes. I prepare briefings, manage calls, play the perfect assistant.
At eleven, Adrian calls me into his office.
I close the door behind me.
“Sit.”
He’s silent for a long moment, studying me.
“You’ve been here two weeks, Ms. Stone. Your work is exceptional. Your credentials are impressive. Your references all praise your competence and discretion.”
He leans forward.
“So why don’t I believe a word of it?”
My pulse spikes, but I keep my face neutral. “I’m not sure what you mean, sir.”
“I’ve had three assistants in the past two years. All of them lasted less than six months. All of them were competent but none of them were perfect.”
He stands, moves to the window.
“You’re perfect, too perfect. You anticipate questions before I ask them. You catch errors my own analysts miss.”
He turns back to me.
“And this morning, I caught you in my office with confidential merger documents, with your camera app open, and your explanation was that you were photographing the break room schedule board.”
“I can show you the photos—”
“I don’t care about the photos.” He moves closer. “I care about why you’re really here. Who sent you? My father? The Harringtons? A competitor?”
I stand. “No one sent me, Mr. Lockwood. I applied for this position because it’s an excellent opportunity—”
“Don’t.” His voice cuts like glass. “Don’t insult my intelligence with corporate recruitment talk.”
We’re standing two feet apart now.
“I’m going to find out who you are, Ms. Stone. I’m going to find out who sent you and what you’re really after. And when I do….”
His phone rings.
He glances at the screen, jaw tightening. “We’re not done with this conversation.”
He answers the call, turning away.
I leave before he can stop me.
At my desk, I force my hands to stop shaking.
He knows. He doesn’t have proof, but he knows something is wrong.
I need to be more careful.
The afternoon passes. Adrian is in meetings until four. I use the time to access the merger timeline from my desk, no more risky office visits.
Screenshot after screenshot uploads to my encrypted cloud.
Transfer records. Board meeting minutes. Email chains between Malcolm Lockwood and Richard Harrington.
The merger talks began the same week my father was accused. The timeline I suspected is confirmed.
By five o’clock, I have six months of documentation.
I’m so focused on my small victory that I almost miss the text notification from an unknown number, a photo attachment.
I open it immediately.
It’s me, in Adrian’s office this morning, clearly photographing files on his desk.
Another photo arrives.
A school picture from eight years ago. Brown hair, scared eyes, thin face.
Me, before I became Raven Stone.
Next to it, my current headshot from the Lockwood Enterprises website.
Side by side. The same person.
The final text arrives from the unknown number.
Raven Stone didn’t exist three years ago. Neither did her degree, her references, or her spotless background check. But you know who DID exist? The daughter of someone who died in disgrace.
I wonder what Adrian Lockwood would pay to know his new assistant is the daughter of the man his family destroyed. Or what the Harringtons would pay to make you disappear.
Let's meet tonight, at Pike Place Market at the North entrance. 10 PM tonight.
Come alone, or Monday morning, Adrian gets everything.
I stare at the messages until my vision blurs.
Someone knows everything.
I text Jordan with trembling fingers.
We have a problem.
The reply comes immediately. What?
Someone knows who I am and they have proof.
WHO?
I don’t know, but I’m meeting them tonight.
Raven, you can’t. This is a trap.
If I don’t go, Adrian will find out and everything will be ruined.
- Writer
