The Contract He Regrets

Elevator

Chapter eight

They didn’t go for the elevator.

Damien pulled Claire down the hall, past her bedroom, to a door marked STAFF ONLY. Keypad. He pressed his thumb to it. It clicked.

“Service stairs,” he said. “No cameras. No board access.”

The door shut behind them. Sound dropped. Just their breathing and the echo of footsteps on metal. Down, down, down. Thirty floors. Her half-zipped dress snagged on the railing. She tore it free. Didn’t stop.

Claire kept the folder pressed to her chest like armor. E.B.’s note faced up. If you’re reading this, you broke the rules. Good.

“What did your dad mean?” she asked between steps. Voice bouncing off concrete.

“He knew the board would come for the trial data,” Damien said. Didn’t look back. “He built a dead man’s switch. If the file was opened by anyone but me, it triggers.”

“Triggers what?”

“Proof to the FDA. Every fake signature. Every rushed test. His whole career on the line to take the doctor down with him.”

Claire stumbled. Damien caught her elbow. Didn’t let go this time. Rule one was ash.

They hit the ground floor. Exit sign glowed green. Damien paused with his hand on the push bar. “Once we go through, we’re exposed. No security. No Marta. Just us and whatever the doctor sends.”

The intercom crackled. Not the doctor. Marta. Breathing hard. “Mr. Blackwood. They cut the building power. Elevators are dead. But the service exit leads to the river dock. My boat is there. Keys under the mat.”

Boat. Not a car. Not traceable.

Damien pushed the bar. Cold air hit them. The river smelled like rain and diesel. A small dock jutted into black water. One boat tied up, running lights off.

Footsteps on the street above. Fast. Flashlights sweeping.

“Go,” Damien said. He helped Claire in, then untied the rope with one hand. His other hand stayed on her back. Steady.

The engine coughed to life. Quiet. They drifted away from the dock as voices shouted her name. Damien’s name. Blackwood! Whitaker!

Claire flipped open the folder in the dark. More pages. Financial records. Emails. And a key. Small. Brass. Taped to the last page under E.B.’s note.

There was a sticky note attached in different handwriting. Female. Neat.

Safety deposit box 117. First National. He kept the original trial data there. Not copies. The doctor doesn’t know it exists. Only you two. Use it wisely. M.

M. Marta.

Claire looked up. Damien was watching her, not the river. Rain started, light at first.

“The doctor thinks he has until dawn,” Damien said. “He doesn’t know about the key. Or Marta.”

Claire held up the key. “Bank opens at 7am. Dawn is 6:12.”

“We won’t make it to 7am with him hunting us,” Damien said. Then his phone buzzed. Unknown number. Same as before.

New text, Dock 12. Not 11. He’s watching 11. D

Damien frowned. “I didn’t send that.”

Claire’s blood went cold. Someone else had their number. Someone else knew about the boat. Someone else was moving them like chess pieces.

A spotlight hit the water behind them. A security boat. Board logo on the side.

Damien gunned the engine. The boat lurched forward. Claire grabbed the railing with one hand. Held the folder and key with the other.

“We need to pick,” Damien shouted over the engine. “Bank at 7am for the real data. Or Dock 12 now for whoever sent that text.”

The spotlight got closer. Bullets wouldn’t be next. Reputation destruction would. Monday 8am was 4 hours away.

Claire looked at the key. Then at Damien. Then at the dark water ahead where two docks waited. 11 and 12.

She made her choice.