Chapter 4 – Beneath the Surface
The rain came down in a cold, steady sheet the next morning, blurring the city into streaks of gray and silver. Amara stood at the window of Elias's office, arms wrapped around herself as she watched people pass by with umbrellas and hurried steps. But her mind was far from the street.
Raymond Oris had seen her. That moment at the fundraiser hadn't left her since. His eyes were calculating, like a man watching a match he thought he'd already won.
Behind her, Elias was on a call, voice calm but tight. "I don't care what strings you have to pull—if those files get out, everything blows up."
He hung up, rubbing the back of his neck. "Mason found more. Offshore accounts tied to two of Myra Solarin's 'charity' programs. That alone could land her ten years, maybe more."
"And Raymond?" Amara asked without turning.
"He's dirtier than we thought. Ties to an old judge-for-sale ring that got buried under a different scandal ten years ago. We're digging through sealed files now."
There was a knock. Liana stepped in, holding her tablet. Her sharp eyes flicked between the two of them.
"We have a bigger problem," she said. "Myra knows something. Someone tipped her off about last night."
Amara turned. "What?"
"She didn't say much, but she canceled two meetings and ordered a complete sweep of her personal accounts. I heard one of her security guys say, 'She's clearing the boards.' Whatever that means... it's not good."
Elias looked grim. "She's covering her tracks. If she suspects we're onto her, she'll burn everything."
"And she won't hesitate to take us down with it," Liana added.
Mason's voice came through the speaker system he'd rigged into the office. "Yeah, about that—there's been some... chatter. Encrypted threads. Your names are floating through back channels. You've got heat, boss. The dangerous kind."
A tense silence fell.
"We need to move faster," Elias said finally. "Before she buries the last of the evidence—or us."
That evening, the team set up a makeshift command center in the back room of Elias's apartment. Maps, photos, and files littered the table. Mason tapped at his keyboard like a man possessed, while Liana scrolled through her contacts, trying to find someone still loyal.
Amara sat beside Elias, going over every detail of the fundraiser, trying to piece together something they missed.
"We have a chance," Elias said quietly, "but only if we're willing to go all in."
Amara looked at him. "You've already risked everything for me."
He held her gaze. "This isn't just about you anymore."
The air between them shifted—charged, heavy, honest.
Then Mason swore under his breath. "I found something. She's got a burner warehouse. Documents, maybe even hard drives—set to be destroyed by tomorrow night."
"Where?" Elias asked, already standing.
"Dockside. Terminal 9. Guarded but not locked down. We could get in."
Amara stood too. "Then we do it. Tonight."
"No," Elias said. "Not we. Me and Mason."
Amara stepped forward. "You're not leaving me out of this. You said it yourself—this isn't just about me anymore."
He hesitated, jaw clenched.
"I'm going," she repeated.
And he nodded.
Later that night, dressed in black and soaked by the rain, they crouched in the shadows outside the warehouse, heartbeats pounding in sync. Elias motioned to Mason, who hacked the door control with ease. They slipped inside.
The warehouse was colder than the storm outside, lit by flickering overhead lights. Dust floated in the air, and the smell of damp paper and metal clung to everything.
They moved fast. Mason cracked open a locked file cabinet while Amara and Elias dug through crates of shredded documents and charred boxes. But then—
"Movement," Mason hissed. "We're not alone."
Voices. Footsteps.
They froze.
Then Elias grabbed Amara's hand and pulled her behind a stack of crates just as a flashlight beam swept past.
Three men. Armed.
Not security—mercenaries.
They weren't just there to protect the evidence.
They were there to destroy it—and anyone who got in their way.
The warehouse was a maze of danger. Shadows danced across crates and filing cabinets as the mercenaries moved closer, their voices low and alert. Amara crouched beside Elias, breath shallow, her heart hammering so loud she thought they'd hear it.
Elias's hand was steady on her arm. Calm. Focused. "We have to move—quietly. Follow me."
He signaled to Mason, who gave a small nod and melted into the shadows behind them. Amara and Elias began inching toward the far end of the warehouse, where a row of server towers stood like silent sentinels. If any data still existed, it would be there.
Then—crack.
A metal pipe fell from a shelf Mason had brushed against. It clattered against the floor like a warning shot.
The mercenaries froze.
"Who's there?" one of them barked.
Mason didn't hesitate. He threw a smoke bomb from his bag—it burst into a thick, gray cloud, blanketing the warehouse in chaos.
"Run!" Elias shouted, grabbing Amara's hand again.
They darted through the haze, footsteps pounding against concrete. One of the men fired blindly. A bullet zipped past, embedding into a crate just inches from Amara's head.
They made it to the server bank. Mason appeared from the side, coughing through the smoke.
"I need two minutes," he said, dropping to his knees in front of the central drive. "Cover me."
Elias pulled a pistol from his coat—a last resort he'd hoped not to need—and kept low as he watched the corners. Amara crouched beside Mason, hands shaking.
"Hurry," she whispered.
Then, from the smoke, one of the mercenaries appeared.
Amara saw him first—raised the warning just in time.
Elias turned and fired.
The man went down.
The room went still.
Mason yanked the hard drive out, slid it into a case, and tossed it to Elias. "Got it. Let's move!"
But just as they turned toward the exit, an explosion rocked the far end of the warehouse. Fire roared to life—orange and violent.
"They rigged it!" Mason shouted.
The flames spread fast, licking up the walls and across the ceiling. Smoke filled their lungs, burned their eyes.
They ran.
They burst through the side door just as another explosion split the night behind them, throwing them to the ground. Amara hit the pavement hard, pain slicing through her shoulder. Elias was beside her, shielding her from debris.
For a moment, the world was nothing but fire and smoke and sirens in the distance.
Then: silence.
They coughed and crawled to their feet. The warehouse was gone. But the hard drive was still in Elias's coat—hot, but intact.
They'd made it.
Battered, burned, but alive.
Back at the office, Amara sat in a daze while Mason began backing up the drive. Liana arrived minutes later, pale and breathless.
"You got it?" she asked.
Amara nodded slowly. "Barely."
Elias peeled off his jacket, revealing a gash across his forearm. "We need to find out what's on that drive. If it's what we think it is... it could bring her down. Myra. Oris. Everyone."
But Amara wasn't listening anymore. Her eyes were fixed on the cracked mirror above the sink.
She saw herself—bruised, blood on her lip, hair a tangled mess—and didn't recognize the woman staring back.
She wasn't the same girl who'd been wrongfully arrested.
She wasn't the same girl Elias had met in that sterile, cold courtroom.
She was something else now.
Something sharper.
And for the first time, Amara realized: they weren't just fighting for justice.
They were becoming the very storm meant to tear corruption apart.