FALLING FOR THE ENEMY

THREATS

“Hello, let Miss Mark in.”

The CEO’s voice came through the telephone. My chest tensed. My palms went wet. I was iced at the receptionist’s desk.

I thought: Is he about to fire me? Is he about to query me?

But that was not what scared me most.

It was Santiago.

He was in the CEO’s office. What was he doing there? Why was he here again?

I told myself, whatever it is, I’ll find out soon.

I walked in. The office smelled of war and of danger. My CEO gave me a smile. But I know deep down that it's not a kind smile. A fake smile that cuts me deeper than blade.

“How're you, Miss Mark?” he inquired.

“I’m fine,” I replied. My lips trembled. I was not fine. My heart was running faster than a chased rabbit.

Santiago sat there, his legs crossed, his eyes on me. Eyes that judged me, whipped me. He looked at me like I was dirt on his shoe.

I refused to look away. I locked my eyes with him for a second. But inside, I was breaking in pieces.

“You know what, Miss Mark,” the CEO began, his voice suspicious. “We have terms and conditions in this company. I believe you know them well. Our mode of operation is strict. Very strict. But I was shocked when I discovered you broke them. Like, was it intentional or unintentional?”

My throat dried like a desert.

“You got yourself drunk,” he continued. “You lost a contract that would have lifted this company to greater heights. You acted unprofessional. And unprofessionalism is a disease I cannot watch grow into a tree in this company. Yes! Not under my watch.”

My lips stuttered. “Mmm… sir… I… I…”

The words choked me. It was like a bone was stuck in my throat. My heart beat like a carpenter hammering nails inside my chest.

“Calm down, Miss Mark,” he said, but both his mood and tone was cold. “We understand you may be in shock. We appreciate your good works in time past. But we are broken. Truly broken to see you lose the contract we needed. Honestly, we have no choice but to replace you.”

My ears rang continuously.

He went on. “We feel you have been distracted lately. Overthinking and Drinking. What's wrong with you? That is not what we want in Global Finances. So, your role as manager will now go to this gentleman.” He turned his eyes to Santiago.

I turned too. Santiago’s lips rolled in a small, cruel smile.

“Miss Mark,” the CEO continued, “we are sorry. But Global Finances needs competent men and women. People who will not ruin the company’s name. To honour you, we prepared a letter of apology. We will make it up to you. Trust us. You will remain with us. But not as our manager.”

He slid an envelope across the table.

My hand shook as I picked it. The paper felt like a taboo.

I swallowed my tears. “Hmm. Santiago. You’ve done your worst, right? You think I don’t know what you did? God will judge you. My CEO, no problem. I’ve learnt from my mistakes.”

I rushed out. My legs carried me fast with a wind of speed. Tears blurred my eyes.

How would I handle this? Working under Santiago? How?

The board approved it quickly. Santiago was now manager.

The atmosphere of the company changed overnight. Fear walked in human form. His rules came like iron chains.

One morning, I came late by just ten minutes. He called me to his office.

“Are you sure you want to continue working here?” His voice was sharp, mocking. “Don’t you have a clock in your house? Or are you too busy guiding your movements in the wrong places? I will not tolerate incompetence. Not from you. Not from anyone.”

He leaned back and smiled. “You slut.”

The word cut into me. I folded my arms, but I said nothing.

Every day became hell. I wanted to resign, but I couldn’t. Global Finances had fed me, kept me alive since I was an orphaned teenager. Where would I go? I was hopeless. Hopeless and helpless.

But soon I noticed something.

Santiago was not the angel investor he claimed to be. He was hiding something. Yes, certainly.

His so-called “deal” for the company was fake. His calls were secret. His men came in and out of the building with strange packages. I watched closely.

One night, as I walked past his office, I iced. His voice leaked through the door. He was on a call.

“Have you killed that woman we brought home a few days back?” he asked.

My blood ran cold.

He did not know I was at his doorstep. My phone was in my hand. I pressed record. My hands were shaking as I captured his words.

I stepped back slowly, quietly, before he noticed.

That night I didn’t sleep. My mind kept replaying his voice like a highlight. His calm tone when he spoke about killing. Like it was nothing. Like it was normal. For real? Damn!

I started to suspect. He was more than a businessman. He was a beast in a suit.

….

At work, I began to listen through the walls. His office was next to mine. Thin walls that if I pressed my ear close enough, I could hear him.

“Where are you, Chief? I’ll meet you there. We must talk about the shipment,” I heard him talk silently one day.

Shipment? What shipment?

Another time: “The boys are ready. The warehouse is clear. Tonight we move. No dulling”

My skin burned.

I wrote everything down, including the dates, the time and the words.

One day, I almost got caught. He ended his call and walked out suddenly. I jumped away from the wall and bent over my desk, pretending to type. His eyes scanned me. For a second, I thought he knew. But he said nothing. He just chuckled and walked away.

That chuckle got me worried.

Then I transitioned from frypan to fire.

He would walk close to me in the office, his facial expression mixed with evil. “Miss Mark,” he’d say, “don’t think I didn’t see you. I saw everything.”

I felt a hard beat on my chest. Was he informed? Or was it a prank?

Sometimes at night since his challenge towards me at the office, I’d hear footsteps outside my apartment. I’d peep through the window. I would see shadows move. Was it him? Or was it my fear? Or something I created from my imagination?

Nobody told me before I started writing myself an epistle, just in case I disappear someday. I made sure I included every evidence and proof that'll be needed. Meanwhile, my handwriting was shaking on every page.

One evening, I stayed late at the office. The building was almost empty. Santiago’s door was half open. I heard voices. I moved closer.

“Tonight we burn it. Nobody leaves alive,” Santiago said.

My chest seized. Burn what? Kill who? Really?

Another voice replied, “And the girl?”

There was silence. Then Santiago’s voice. Cold and straightforward.

“She’s seen too much. End her.”

My blood froze with the speed of light.

I ran. My heels clicked too loud on the floor. I covered my mouth to silence my breathing. I rushed into the restroom and locked myself inside. Tears spilled as I pressed my phone to my chest.

I had proof. I have had enough now. But what good was proof if I was dead? Will it be necessary again?

The next morning, I went to the office with the boldness of a police detective . My hands shook as I carried my bag. Inside was my phone, my notes, my evidence.

I entered the office. Santiago was already there, seated like a king. His blue eyes pinned me to the wall.

“Miss Mark,” he said softly and seductively. “We need to talk. I know you've some issues against me that you haven't unveiled yet.”

I smiled, though my lips trembled. “Yes, sir.”

But in my mind, one voice kept screaming: Run before he kills you.