The Fallen Billionaire and the Quiet Secretary Who Reclaimed His Empire
The train arrived at my stop fifteen minutes later.
I got off and walked up the stairs into the quieter streets of Chelsea.
My destination was a small, second-floor apartment registered under my aunt’s maiden name.
It was a place Alexander did not know about, and Marcus certainly did not.
I unlocked the outer door, climbed the creaking wooden stairs, and entered the apartment.
I did not turn on the lights.
I walked to the window and pulled the thin blinds aside to look down at the street.
It was empty, save for a parked delivery van and a few trash cans lined up near the curb.
I closed the blinds and walked into the small kitchen.
I turned on a single low-wattage desk lamp.
The room filled with a dim, yellow glow.
I set my bag on the table and carefully pulled out the hard drive.
It was a rugged, black metal casing with a single USB-C port on the side.
My hands were still cold, so I rubbed them together before opening my laptop.
I plugged the drive into the side of the computer.