Chapter 3
The moment I left HR, I drove straight to Maeve's firm.
Original data—judicially preserved. Cybercrime unit—case filed within the hour.
On the way, a text from the nursing home director lit up my screen.
One glance, and something behind my eyes went dead cold.
[Blocked them. Paparazzi tried to force entry. Documents shredded per your standing instructions. Fabricated syphilis-positive lab report, AI-generated photos—none of it reached your mother. She's still asleep.]
In my previous life, that filth had gotten through. The shock triggered the cardiac arrest that killed her.
This time, I'd welded every door shut before they could even raise a hand.
Never again.
Eight p.m. I returned to Apex Capital for my personal hard drive.
The cloud recording already had Landon by the throat. The smear campaign had crashed and burned.
With workplace coercion and psychological warfare both neutralized, a cornered animal only had one move left—lashing out.
I grabbed my things and rode the elevator down to B3, the VIP garage.
The sublevel was deserted. Motion-sensor lights flickered on one by one, tracking my steps like a dying pulse.
I reached my car and stopped dead.
Three men in black suits stepped from the shadows, cutting off every exit.
Leading them was David. Landon's right hand.
"Sloane." David stretched his lips into something like a smile, eyes locked on my laptop bag. "Working late, huh?"
I scanned the space. Textbook intimidation setup.
"Move." My right hand slid into my coat pocket, fingers closing around the pepper spray I'd stashed there this morning, thumb on the safety tab.
"Easy now."
David stepped closer. "Just so you know—cameras on this level are under 'routine maintenance' tonight. That recording's giving Landon a real migraine."
"So here's the deal: hand over your phone, wipe the cloud, leave the laptop, and we all sign a nice settlement. Otherwise—" He tilted his head. "You don't walk out of this garage."
There it was. Plan B.
When the manufactured scandal failed, go physical. Seize the evidence, then pin a corporate espionage charge on me to bury everything.
In my previous life, this was exactly how they'd done it.
Stripped me of every device. Erased every trace. Left me with nothing but a long fall from the Brooklyn Bridge into black water.
But a woman who's already drowned once doesn't fear three men in expensive suits.
"Get. Out. Of. My. Way."
Not a flicker of warmth in my eyes.
"Stupid bitch. Hold her down!" David's face curdled. He lunged for my shoulder.
I ripped the canister free and jammed the nozzle into his face.
"AHHH—!!"
Concentrated capsicum seared through his corneas and flooded his airways.
He crumpled to the concrete, clawing at his eyes, writhing and screaming.
The other two froze. They hadn't expected me to go nuclear.
I used that half-second to yank the tactical alarm off my bag strap.
BWEEE—OOOOO—!!
Over a hundred decibels detonated through the garage, bouncing off concrete like a shockwave.
"Shit!" One of the heavies cursed and charged.
I twisted sideways. My spine cracked against the car door, but my arm was already up—another blast straight into his eyes.
Two grown men writhed on the ground, howling like gutted animals.
The third stood frozen, not daring to move an inch.
I didn't run.
I stood in the middle of their screaming, face carved from ice, and dialed 911.
"I need police. Apex Capital, Fifth Avenue, Manhattan. Sublevel three, VIP garage. Three males, attempted robbery and assault. I acted in self-defense. Send units now."
I hung up and looked down at David twitching on the concrete, tears and mucus streaming down his swollen face.
"Tell Landon—he wants to play dirty, he's not in the right weight class."
Ten minutes later, squad cars flooded the garage.
David, face blistered and weeping from every orifice, still had the audacity to flip the script—claiming I'd stolen trade secrets, attacked them unprovoked, insisting the cameras were conveniently down.
I didn't waste my breath. I showed the officers the bruise blooming across my back, then pointed to the concealed dashcam behind my front grille.
Twenty-four-seven. High definition. The footage shredded their lies in real time.
NYPD cuffed all three on the spot. Criminal harassment and attempted robbery.
Two a.m. I walked out of the precinct.
Night wind cut like a blade, but my mind was diamond-clear.
I'd barely slid into a cab when Maeve's call came through.
"Saw the precinct report. You hurt?"
"Just a few strays that needed muzzling." I watched Manhattan blur past the window. "Smoking gun?"
"Got it." Maeve snapped into killer-instinct litigator mode.
"Defamation IPs bounced through three proxy layers, but the fifty-grand dark-web Bitcoin payment for the troll farm traced back to a fiat on-ramp—a secondary black card under Camilla's name."
A cold laugh escaped me.
Best friend to my face, knife in my back the moment I turned around. Classic.
"And Landon?"
"Thought a boutique hotel instead of a chain would cover his tracks." Maeve's voice dripped with contempt.
"I secured a federal subpoena and pulled hallway surveillance. The woman checking into that room with him wasn't you—it was a compliance intern who started three weeks ago."
"Witness locked down?"
"Obviously. The girl was already gaslit to the breaking point. I offered top-tier private security plus a multimillion-dollar punitive damages claim against Apex leadership. That cracked her open.
"She turned over everything—texts, voicemails—proving Landon leveraged a full-time offer to coerce her."
"All originals forensically authenticated and under court seal," Maeve added.
Every piece locked into place. A noose pulled taut around their necks.
"Beautiful work, Maeve." I closed my eyes and drew the cold air deep into my lungs.
"Then what's the play? I can file with federal court first thing tomorrow, or we go scorched-earth tonight—evidence straight to law enforcement and the press."
"No." I opened my eyes.
My reflection stared back in the glass—honed and frozen.
"Litigation is too kind. Day after tomorrow is Apex's global Townhall. Five thousand employees. Live-streamed worldwide."
Each word fell like a hammer strike.
"I'm going to skin them alive—on camera, in front of everyone."
