Chapter 5- Sabotage
639 Words
Chapter 5 — Sabotage
I woke to the sound of raised voices.
For a second, I thought the dream had followed me into reality—until I recognized Ethan’s. Low, clipped, furious.
I pulled on a robe and stepped into the living room. He was standing near the window, phone to his ear, pacing like a caged predator.
“I don’t care who signed off on it,” he was saying. “Pull the shipment now. If it leaves the dock, we’re done.”
He hung up and muttered something under his breath before noticing me. “You’re up early.”
“Not by choice,” I said. “What’s going on?”
He hesitated, then ran a hand through his hair. “Someone tried to reroute one of Cross Enterprises’ cargo ships last night. If it had gone through, we would’ve lost three million in assets—and a hell of a lot of credibility with our clients.”
“Accident?”
He gave me a look sharp enough to cut glass. “No.”
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At headquarters, the tension was palpable. Conversations stopped when I entered. Employees avoided eye contact.
Ethan stayed close as we took the private elevator to the executive floor. “We’re doing a security sweep,” he murmured. “If there’s a mole, I’ll find them.”
In my office, a folder sat neatly on my desk. No note. No explanation.
Inside were copies of last night’s shipping orders—doctored to hide the reroute. At the bottom, in tidy, feminine handwriting, was a single sentence:
You’re not the only one who can play pretend.
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I didn’t tell Ethan about the note. Not yet. Something about it felt… personal. And reckless as it was, I needed to know who sent it without tipping my hand.
The first meeting of the day was with the logistics department. A dozen people sat around the table, faces a mix of confusion and discomfort.
“Who authorized the reroute?” I asked, my voice steady but cold.
Silence.
Finally, a junior manager cleared his throat. “The order came from your office, sir. Directly.”
The room tilted slightly, though I kept my face impassive. “Are you saying I signed off on losing three million dollars?”
“N-No, sir, I just—”
Ethan stepped in, his tone like ice. “What he means is someone forged Lucas Cross’s authorization. Which means we have a traitor in this room—or close to it.”
Eyes darted. Shoulders tensed. And in the corner, Marissa Hale smiled faintly, like someone enjoying a private joke.
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By mid-afternoon, Ethan had half his team tearing through access logs and shipment records. I tried to focus on the stack of contracts in front of me, but my gaze kept drifting to the window, the city spread out below like a chessboard.
Every move I made now felt like a risk. Every smile from a colleague felt like a mask.
When the intercom buzzed, I jumped. “Yes?”
“Sir,” the receptionist said, “there’s a delivery for you. No sender listed.”
A cold thread wound through my spine. “Send it in.”
A courier entered, placed a small box on my desk, and left without a word.
Ethan appeared almost instantly, scanning it for any sign of tampering. Then he opened it.
Inside was a single black chess piece—a king—snapped clean in half.
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That night, Ethan didn’t leave. “If someone’s sending you threats,” he said, “I’m staying until we know who and why.”
I didn’t argue.
But as I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, I couldn’t shake the feeling that the game had already started—and I was several moves behind.
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- Writer
