Chapter 4: The Rival
960 Words
The floor was nearly silent with just the distant hum of the cleaning crew and the occasional elevator chime. Most of the office lights had dimmed for the night, but Allegra’s corner remained lit, her screen flickering with spreadsheets and system dashboards. She typed methodically as if hoping to drown her nerves in the rhythm.
Then came the voice so warm and disarming, but laced with something sharper underneath.
“Burning the midnight oil, Monroe?”
Allegra froze for half a second before turning to find Marcus Chen leaning casually against the door frame, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened just enough to seem effortless. He looked like someone winding down for the day, but Allegra knew Marcus wasn’t doing casual by accident.
“Trying to make a good impression,” she said, keeping her tone light. “Still figuring out how to navigate the Voss ecosystem.”
He stepped inside, hands in his pockets, eyes scanning her workstation with calculated ease. “Impressive dedication. Especially on day three.”
“I’ve always believed early effort buys long-term trust.”
“Interesting philosophy. "What exactly are you working on?” His eyes landed on her open tabs, which include vendor contracts, project timelines, which are mostly harmless. She quickly minimized the internal audit files.
“Following up on the Meridian analysis. Julian asked me to check a few figures. Just trying to stay ahead.”
Chen nodded, but lingered too long for comfort. “You know, a lot of bright analysts come through here; they usually play it safe at first, then keep their heads down, but you…? You walked into a senior strategy meeting and contradicted the CEO boldly.”
Allegra smiled, not quite amused. “Honesty seemed like the better risk.”
“And now Victoria Hargrove has you on her radar. "That’s not always a good thing.” His voice dropped half a note, softening just enough to unsettle. “Just… be careful what fires you light, Monroe. Some people around here burn hotter than they look.”
He turned on his heel and left without another word.
Allegra didn’t exhale until the elevator chimed again.
The next morning, Julian West cornered her near the espresso bar, that familiar half-smirk playing on his lips.
“I’ve got an idea,” he said, handing her a coffee she hadn’t asked for. “We’ve got an off-site three-day corporate retreat for the senior team only by next week.”
Allegra blinked. “That’s a little outside my pay grade, isn’t it?”
“Normally, yes. But you made waves with the Meridian report, and Voss noticed. He wants fresh eyes in the room. I suggested yours.”
She took the cup, unsure whether to thank him or brace herself. “And Victoria?”
Julian’s smirk twisted slightly. “Wasn’t thrilled. Which makes it even more fun.”
Allegra felt her pulse tick upward. An invitation this early meant exposure—access, yes, but also scrutiny. Exactly the kind of attention she’d been trying to time carefully.
Still, refusing would raise questions.
“I’ll be there,” she said, steadying her voice.
“Good. Pack for war. "These ‘retreats’ are more like psychological knife fights.”
That afternoon, in a glass-walled office three floors up, Victoria Hargrove stared at Allegra Monroe’s file for the fifth time in as many days. The background check, once stalled, had come through mostly.
The dates lined up; the employees checked out, but something didn’t sit right.
Her eyes narrowed at a line of text: Father deceased. No known next of kin.
That was where the ghost lived. Too clean. Too careful.
Victoria picked up her phone and dialed her contact at Deloitte. “Tell me what you know about Allegra Monroe. I want details, not the résumé. The stuff people don’t write down.”
She ended the call and stared at the Manhattan skyline.
There was always something beneath the shine.
Allegra’s apartment was the opposite of the Voss tower: bare, utilitarian, rented under an alias with a couch, a table, and a stack of burner phones in a drawer. She sat cross-legged on the floor, notes spread around her like the petals of a disassembled trap.
The phone rang, the one she kept buried at the back of a shoebox beneath the sink.
She knew who it would be before she answered.
“Nicholas?”
His voice was a wreck of desperation. “Ally, I need help.”
Her stomach dropped. “What happened?”
“I messed up. I pawned the guitar. The one from Dad. I didn’t want to, but the dealer… he said I owed interest.”
“You promised me, Nick.”
“I know! "I know, I just… I needed something to take the edge off, just for one night, but now they’re saying I owe more, and they threatened to come to the apartment.”
Allegra’s mind raced as she couldn’t afford a public scene. Nicholas couldn’t have shown up at her work, couldn’t risk attention from the wrong people.
“Where are you right now?”
“Still at the place. I haven’t left yet.”
“I’ll take care of it. Just stay there. Don’t open the door for anyone.”
He sniffled. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to screw things up.”
She hung up without answering. Not because she didn’t care, but because she cared too much, and if she let herself feel it now, she’d lose the edge she needed to survive the week ahead.
She stared at her reflection in the dark window. The lines of her mission were blurring, bleeding into each other.
Nicholas was a variable she hadn’t factored into the current phase. Whereas variables got people killed.
- Writer
