Visible
946 Words
The first thing I noticed was the car.
Black. Tinted windows. Parked across the street from my building like it had every right to be there.
At first, I told myself it was nothing. This city is full of black cars. Full of people waiting for someone who isn’t me.
But when I stepped outside, it didn’t start.
It stayed.
Watching.
I walked three blocks before I heard footsteps behind me.
Not fast. Not slow. Just steady. Matching me.
I didn’t turn around.
If I turned around, I would make it real.
Instead, I cut into a café I couldn’t afford and ordered something small just to justify being there. I stood near the counter, staring at my phone while using the reflection in the glass to watch the door.
The footsteps stopped outside.
Whoever it was didn’t come in.
They just waited.
My stomach tightened.
Ten minutes later, I slipped out the back door and didn’t look over my shoulder until I reached a crowded intersection. Only then did my chest loosen enough to breathe properly.
They weren’t trying to grab me.
They were reminding me I could be reached.
By midday, the media vans showed up.
Two reporters. A cameraman. Pretending they were just parked there for fun.
One of them looked up and saw me through the window. He lifted his camera slightly. Testing.
I stepped back immediately.
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
I ignored it.
It rang again.
Then a message came through.
You should’ve stayed quiet.
My jaw tightened.
I forwarded it to Elias without replying.
His response came fast.
Don’t engage. They want reaction.
Easy for him to say.
Within the hour, my name was trending locally. No new evidence. No new facts. Just speculation. Threads pulling apart my face, my history, my father’s name like strangers had the right.
That was when the second call came.
This one, I recognized.
Mara.
I hadn’t spoken to her in years.
My old roommate. The one who sat on the kitchen floor with me the night my father died. The one who swore she’d never repeat what I told her.
I hesitated before answering.
“Ava,” she said softly. Too softly. “I saw the news.”
I didn’t soften.
“I didn’t give you this number.”
A pause.
“I got it from someone at Blackwood,” she said quickly. “I was worried.”
That didn’t sit right.
“You don’t even live here anymore.”
“I visit,” she said. “Sometimes.”
The timing was wrong. The tone was wrong. The whole thing felt staged.
“They’re saying awful things about you,” she continued. “I thought maybe you needed someone.”
I looked out the window at the reporters across the street.
“Who told you where I work?” I asked.
Silence.
“Ava—”
I hung up.
The phone buzzed again immediately.
I didn’t answer.
An hour later, I saw the press release.
BLACKWOOD GLOBAL DENIES ALLEGATIONS — CEO STANDS BY EMPLOYEE.
Short. Controlled. Strategic.
He didn’t use my name. Just “an employee falsely targeted by external interests.” He warned about legal action. He called the reports misleading.
It should have made me feel protected.
Instead, my stomach dropped.
He’d drawn a line.
And lines get crossed.
My phone rang again.
This time, it was him.
“You didn’t warn me,” I said the moment I answered.
“You wouldn’t have agreed,” Elias replied.
“That statement puts a bigger target on me.”
“Yes,” he said calmly. “And on them.”
I paced my apartment. “You’re escalating.”
“So are they.”
“What if they push harder?”
“They already are.”
I stopped pacing. “Someone from my past called me. She knew where I worked. Knew too much.”
“When?”
“Today.”
“Did you give her anything?”
“No.”
“Did she know about your father’s files?”
“Yes.”
There was a short silence.
“That’s your leak,” he said.
My chest tightened. “You don’t know that.”
“I do,” he replied. “Because the media had details only three people knew. You. Me. And whoever you trusted.”
I sank onto the couch.
“Mara wouldn’t do that.”
“She doesn’t have to mean harm,” he said. “She just has to talk.”
That hit harder than I expected.
“You trusted her,” he added. “That’s not weakness. But it is exposure.”
I closed my eyes.
“So what now?”
“You cut contact,” he said. “You assume everything you’ve ever shared is compromised.”
“And you?”
“I assume Cross is preparing his next move.”
A knock hit my door.
Sharp. Sudden.
I froze.
“I have to go,” I whispered.
“Ava,” Elias said, his voice losing its calm edge. “Do not open that door unless you’re certain who it is.”
I walked slowly to the door and looked through the peephole.
A woman stood there. Late twenties. Press badge clipped to her coat. Camera hanging from her neck.
“Ms. Cole?” she called. “Just a few questions.”
My pulse pounded in my ears.
“They’re here,” I said quietly.
“I know,” Elias replied.
And somehow, that felt worse.
I ended the call and leaned back against the wall, heart racing.
They weren’t guessing anymore.
They were circling.
And someone I once trusted had shown them where to look.
- Writer
