The floorboards groaned under his weight.

“Trevor?” the voice called out again, closer this time.

It was smooth, educated, and completely calm.

This was not the voice of a common criminal or a desperate manager.

I heard the rustle of a heavy winter coat as the man turned his flashlight toward the filing cabinets.

“I know you didn’t leave,” the man said to the empty room. “The front door was unlocked.”

He paused, and the only sound was the howling of the wind outside the frosted glass window.

“If you’re trying to hide the physical ledger, Trevor, you’re making a very poor decision,” the man continued.

He took another step, his shoes squeaking slightly on the wet linoleum.

I saw the light sweep across the top of the desk, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air.

The beam moved downward, catching the edge of the keyboard.

Marcus squeezed his eyes shut, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the edge of the computer tower.

*Eighty-six percent.*

I prayed the silent hum of the hard drive wouldn’t betray us.

The man stepped closer, his shadow falling over our hiding spot.