Morning came too quickly, though Malia hadn’t slept at all. She spent the night pacing the penthouse like a caged bird, every creak of the floor and hum of the rain sharpening her fear. Andrew’s ultimatum burned in her head—Midnight. If she failed, Ivy would die.
Now the sun had barely risen, casting gold streaks across Kieth’s sleek office, and she was there, trembling before his desk, pretending to tidy up. Her heart pounded as she stared at his computer screen.
She’d watched him type his passwords a hundred times—his fingers moved fast, precise, memorized. She’d never dared to look too closely before. But now she had no choice.
“Just one file,” she whispered to herself. “Just one clue.”
She waited until she heard the elevator doors close in the distance. Kieth had gone downstairs to
