Elevator to Secrets

6847 words

The elevator doors hissed shut behind Claire Davenport, sealing her into the polished steel box with a faint hum that vibrated through her soles. She adjusted the collar of her navy blazer, the fabric stiff against her neck, and stared at the glowing numbers ticking upward—47, 48, 49. Her reflection in the mirrored wall looked back, sharp cheekbones drawn tighter than usual, eyes like chipped slate. The air in here smelled of metallic polish and something faintly sour, maybe the ghost of someone’s lunch. She gripped the manila folder in her left hand, the edges biting into her palm, and felt the weight of the ledger inside. Every page of it was a landmine, and she was walking straight into a field of them. “Claire, you sure about this?” Oliver’s voice cut through the silence, rough at the edges, like he’d smoked one too many cigars last night. He leaned against the elevator wall, arms crossed, his charcoal sweater rumpled over jeans that probably cost more than most people’s rent. His jaw twitched, a tell she’d known since they were kids—he was holding something back. Always was. She didn’t turn to face him. “Sure about what? That we’re about to walk into Charlotte West’s office and demand answers? Or that the ledger in this folder ties her to payments Dad...