Chapter 5

Cleaning day was when the prison turned into a hustle.

Inmates got scattered all over the place to scrub things down, and the guards had their hands full trying to keep an eye on everyone.

I was assigned to clean the third-floor hallway.

My face was reflected in the water of the mop bucket.

The scar on my forehead had faded a little, but my eyes were still so unreadable that nobody could see what I was really thinking.

It was 2:15 PM.

The guards in the east corridor were changing shifts.

That gave me a two-minute window.

I set down my mop and walked over to the vent.

My fingers found the loose screw and gave it a hard twist.

The metal cover slid open, and I slipped the flash drive inside before pushing the cover back into place.

The whole thing took less than thirty seconds.

Footsteps sounded at the end of the hallway.

I grabbed my mop and started scrubbing the floor hard.

"Elisa, the west side needs a hand," the guard called out.

"Got it." I grabbed my bucket and walked over, calm as ever.

No one but me knew how slick my palms were with sweat.

That night, I dreamed about Vincent.

In my dream, he looked the same as he had seven years ago, wearing a crisp white shirt, his smile so bright and pure.

We were back on campus, and he took my hand, promising we'd never be apart.

Suddenly, everything fell apart.

On the other side of the glass window, Vincent's face was emotionless. "You'll do her time for three years."

When I woke up, moonlight spilled in through the bars.

The woman sharing my cell was crying, her sobs soft and quiet.

I rolled over and closed my eyes.

Vincent used to be my whole world.

Now, he was my obsession.

I wanted to see him crash and burn.

*****

A month later, Quaid dropped by again.

"Nice work," he said, a smile flickering in his eyes. "Oliver Group lost that project and took a 25-million-dollar hit. The board's starting to doubt Vincent's leadership."

I gripped the receiver, saying nothing.

"But that's still not enough for you, is it?" Quaid leaned in, his face almost pressed to the glass. "You want to watch them go down in flames."

I met his eyes. "Can you pull it off?"

"I can," he smiled, "But you'll have to pay a higher price."

"Go on."

"I want Oliver Group's core client list."

I kept quiet.

Quaid knew my weakness. He said slowly, "I've already filed your early release application. Six months later, you'll be out. Or, if you help me get that list—"

"Three months." I looked him straight in the eye. "I want out in three months."

"Deal." Quaid tapped his finger lightly on the glass, like a high-five through the glass.

From then on, I played the perfect inmate.

I ran the library and headed up the work crew.

I even started tutoring other inmates.

The guards' attitude toward me softened a lot. "Elisa, a letter for you."

It was from Vincent. The first in two years.

I sat in the corner and tore open the envelope.

Every line in that familiar handwriting dripped with fake concern.

It read: [Elisa, how are you? I know these three years have been tough on you. Hang in there a little longer. We'll see each other soon.

[Charlotte's been feeling really guilty. She keeps apologizing. At our wedding, I want her to be the bridesmaid. What do you think?]

I gripped the letter in my hand and laughed.

I laughed until I was shaking.

He wanted Charlotte to be my bridesmaid?

Vincent, you really knew how to crush my dignity.

I tore the letter into tiny pieces and flushed them down the toilet.

Then I shot off a letter to Karla. [Find all of Charlotte's socials. Especially her secret accounts. I want every detail on her.]