THE MAN I CAME TO DESTROY

chapter 2

Liam's POV

Monday morning tastes like metal and coffee I can't keep down. I'm standing in front of my bathroom mirror at six AM, three hours before I need to be at Moretti Holdings, and my hands won't stop shaking. The real kind of shaking, not the practiced tremor I've spent two years perfecting.

My reflection stares back at me with eyes that didn't sleep, skin that looks gray in the fluorescent light, and I have to grip the edge of the sink to keep myself steady.

This is it. Two years of planning have come down to today.

I force myself through the morning routine. Shower, even though I took one last night. Shave, careful around my jawline where my hand wants to slip.

Get dressed in the outfit I picked out three weeks ago: gray slacks, white button-down, navy tie that's professional but not trying too hard. The kind of thing that says I belong here without actually standing out. The tie takes four tries to get right. My fingers keep fumbling the knot.

"Get it together," I tell my reflection. "You've practiced this. You know exactly what to do."

My reflection doesn't look convinced.

I make coffee I won't drink and toast I can't eat. It all sits on my kitchen counter getting cold while I pace my apartment, running through the plan one more time.

First day orientation on the fourteenth floor. Meet the team. Learn the systems. Keep my head down. Be forgettable.

And tonight, after everyone else has left, the parking garage.

My phone buzzes. Elena.

“Today's the day. Remember: nervous but not incompetent. Vulnerable but not broken. You've got this.”

I text back: Thanks.

She sends another message immediately: Don't thank me. Just don't f**k it up.

Classic Elena. All warmth and encouragement. I pocket my phone and grab my bag. New briefcase, leather but not expensive. The kind of recent graduate would buy, trying to look professional on a budget. Inside: the laptop they issued me, an orientation packet, a notebook, and two pens. Nothing personal. Nothing that would tell anyone who I really am.

The drive to Moretti Holdings takes thirty minutes through Monday morning traffic. I could have taken the train but I need my car there for tonight. For the incident. For the moment when everything changes.

The building appears through my windshield like something out of a corporate nightmare. Forty-two stories of glass and steel, reflecting the gray sky back at itself. The Moretti name stretches across the top in letters big enough to see from three blocks away.

This is where Chloe worked. Where she spent her last months thinking she was building a career.Where she learned things that got her killed.

I park on the fourteenth level of the garage, exactly where I'm supposed to. The space is marked VISITOR even though I'm not a visitor anymore. Starting today, I work here. Starting today, I'm inside.

The elevator ride down feels longer than it should. Muzak plays through speakers that have seen better days. The woman sharing the elevator with me doesn't make eye contact, just stares at her phone like it holds the secrets of the universe.

Ground floor. The lobby. It's massive. Marble floors that probably cost more than my entire apartment. A reception desk that curves like a wave, staffed by two people who look like they were hired specifically for their ability to smile without meaning it. Everything is chrome and glass and cold, impersonal angles.

I take a breath. Let my shoulders curve forward just slightly. Drop my gaze to somewhere around chest level instead of meeting eyes directly. Become smaller.

The transformation feels like putting on a costume I've worn so many times it's started to feel like skin.

I approach the desk. The woman on the left looks up. Her smile is perfect and empty.

"Good morning. How can I help you?"

"Hi. I'm Liam Hart. It's my first day. I'm supposed to report to the fourteenth floor?"

My voice comes out softer than normal. Just uncertain enough. Like I'm not quite sure I'm in the right place.

She types something into her computer.

"Hart, Liam. Yes, I have you here. Legal department, junior associate. You'll want to take those elevators, “she points to the fourteenth floor. Check in with Sandra at reception. She'll get you sorted."

"Thank you." I smile. The nervous kind, the one that doesn't quite reach my eyes , She's already looking past me to the next person.

The elevators are packed. Monday morning rush, everyone floods in at once. I squeeze into a car already too full and end up pressed against the back wall next to a guy who smells like expensive cologne and bad decisions. Nobody talks. Everyone stares at their phones or the floor numbers ticking upward.

We stop at seven. At nine. At twelve. People file out and new ones file in, and through it all, I keep my eyes down, my posture small, my breathing carefully controlled.

Fourteen.

The doors open and I step out into a hallway that looks like every corporate hallway I've ever seen. Beige walls. Fluorescent lights. Motivational posters about teamwork and excellence that nobody actually reads.

The reception desk is directly ahead. The woman behind it is maybe fifty, with reading glasses on a chain and a smile that actually reaches her eyes. Her nameplate says Sandra Mitchell.

"You must be Liam." She stands up and comes around the desk. "I'm Sandra. We're so glad to have you join the team."

She shakes my hand. Her grip is firm but not aggressive. I make sure mine is slightly hesitant. Uncertain.

"Thank you. I'm excited to be here." I let a small tremor slip into my voice. First-day nerves. Completely normal.

"Well, let me show you around. Get you set up at your desk. Introduce you to everyone."

She leads me through a maze of cubicles and offices. The fourteenth floor is the legal department. Paralegals and junior associates and case managers, everyone typing and talking on phones and shuffling papers around like it all means something.

My desk is in a cubicle near the back. Nothing special. Standard computer, standard desk, standard everything. But there's a window. Small, but it's there. I can see outside, down to the street below.

And two floors up is where Elias Moretti works.

"You'll be working primarily with Marcus Chen and Jennifer Wade," Sandra is saying. "They're both senior associates, have been with the company for years. They'll help you get oriented. Marcus should be in soon. Jennifer's running late she texted that her train got delayed."

She shows me how to log into the computer system. Walks me through where things are filed, how to access case documents, and the protocols for everything from lunch breaks to emergency procedures. It's information overload, too much to absorb all at once, but I nod and take notes and ask questions that make me sound engaged but not overeager.

Competent but not threatening. That's the sweet spot.

Marcus Chen shows up around nine-thirty. He's maybe thirty-five, Asian American, wearing a suit that's nice but not showy. His handshake is quick and distracted.

"Liam, right? Welcome aboard. Sorry, I'm not more helpful right now. I'm buried under depositions for the Patterson case. But if you need anything, just ask. Or ask Sandra. She actually runs this place."

Sandra laughs. "Don't tell the partners that."

Marcus is already walking away, phone pressed to his ear, having some intense conversation about discovery documents.

The morning passes in a blur of orientation tasks. Computer training. Security badge activation. HR paperwork about benefits and emergency contacts. I eat lunch at my desk, a sandwich from the cafeteria downstairs, and watch people come and go.

Nobody pays much attention to me. I'm just another new hire. Another face that will blend into the background.

Perfect.

Around two PM, I see him.

Not up close. Just a glimpse through the glass walls of a conference room on the fourteenth floor. He's talking to someone, gesturing with his hands, and even from here I can see the way people lean in when he speaks. Like what he's saying matters more than what anyone else might contribute.

Elias Moretti.

He's taller than I expected. The photos didn't quite capture it. Dark hair, expensive suit, the kind of posture that comes from never having to make yourself smaller to fit through the world. Even from thirty feet away through two panes of glass, he commands the space around him.

My hands clench under my desk where nobody can see.

That's him. That's the man who destroyed my sister.

And he has no idea I'm here.

The meeting breaks up. Elias walks out of the conference room with two other people, all of them still talking. They head toward the elevators. Going up, probably. Back to the sixteenth floor where the executive offices are.

He doesn't even glance in my direction.

I force myself to breathe normally. To unclench my hands. To remember that this is step one of a very long plan.

"You okay?"

I jump. Jennifer Wade is standing next to my cubicle. She's maybe forty, a Black woman with her hair in locs pulled back, wearing a pantsuit that means business. She's holding two coffee cups.

"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you." She hands me one of the cups. "Thought you might need caffeine. First days are exhausting."

"Thank you." I take the cup. Let my hand shake just slightly so some coffee sloshes over the rim. "Sorry. Still a little nervous."

"Don't be. You'll do fine. Marcus told me you have a great resume. And anyone Sandra likes is good in my book."

She perches on the edge of my desk. "So. How are you settling in? Overwhelming yet?"

"A little," I admit. "But in a good way. Everyone's been really welcoming."

"That's what we do here. Take care of our own." She sips her coffee. "Do you have any questions? Anything confusing?"

About a thousand things, but I pick something safe. "The case filing system. I think I understand it but I'm not totally sure."

She launches into an explanation that actually helps. Jennifer is good at this, breaking complex things down into manageable pieces. I take notes. Ask follow-up questions that show I'm listening.

And the whole time, part of my brain is running calculations. Jennifer could be useful. She's senior enough to have access to files I won't be able to reach on my own. If I play this right, if I make her think I'm someone worth mentoring, she might let things slip without realizing.

Everyone's a potential asset. That's what Elena taught me.

The rest of the afternoon drags. More orientation. More systems to learn. More names to remember that I'll probably forget by tomorrow.

At five-thirty, people start packing up. The office empties in waves. By six, most of the fourteenth floor is deserted. Just a few diehards still typing away in their cubicles, trying to look dedicated.

I stay at my desk. Pretend to read through case files. Watch the clock.

Six-fifteen. Six-thirty. Six-forty-five.

The last few people trickle out. Call goodnight to Sandra, who's getting ready to leave herself.

She stops by my desk. "Are you planning to stay much longer? Don't feel like you have to work late on your first day."

"I just want to finish reviewing this file." I gesture at my computer screen. "I want to hit the ground running tomorrow."

She smiles. "Don't stay too late. The building gets creepy when it's empty."

"I won't. Maybe another half hour."

She leaves. Her footsteps fade down the hallway. The elevator dings. And then it's quiet.

I'm alone.

I wait another fifteen minutes. Give everyone time to clear out of the building. Then I save my work, shut down my computer, grab my bag.

My heart is pounding now. This is it. Everything up to this point has been set up. What happens next is where the real plan begins.

The elevator down to the parking garage feels different than it did this morning. Slower. The muzak sounds ominous instead of just annoying. I watch the numbers count down. Fourteen. Twelve. Ten. Eight.

Parking level.

The doors open onto concrete and fluorescent lights and that particular echo that comes from underground spaces. My car is where I left it this morning. Row E, space forty-seven.

I walk toward it. My footsteps sound too loud in the empty garage.

Halfway there, I stop. I pulled out my phone.There was a new message on my phone. From an unknown number. Just like all the others I've been receiving for the past three weeks.

I stare at it. As my breathing picks up and my hands start to shake.

And then I hear it.

Footsteps. Coming from somewhere behind me. Echoing off the concrete in a way that makes it impossible to tell exactly where they're coming from.

I freeze. My heart rate kicks up another notch and this time it's not performance. This time it's real fear mixed with calculated panic because even though I planned this, even though I know what's supposed to happen, the parking garage is dark and empty and I'm alone.

The footsteps get closer.

I drop my keys as They clatter against the concrete, skittering under my car. I crouch down to get them, and that's when I see it.

A shadow. Moving between cars three rows over.

Someone is here.

Someone who isn't supposed to be here.

Someone who isn't part of the plan.

My breath catches. Real panic now, flooding through me cold and sharp. This isn't right. This isn't how it's supposed to go.

I'm supposed to stage the panic attack alone, supposed to wait for

A car door slams somewhere in the garage.

An engine starts.

And that's when everything goes wrong.

I