Hailey’s POV
The cold metal of the handcuffs bit into Hailey’s wrists, the sound of them clicking shut loud enough to echo in her mind. Her heart hammered against her ribs, each beat laced with disbelief. People in the hospital corridor stopped and stared, murmuring to each other, some with pity, others with judgment. She kept her eyes locked on Theodore, silently begging him to do something—anything.
But Theodore just stood there, jaw clenched so tightly she could see the muscle twitch. His lips parted as if to speak, but no words came out. His hesitation cut deeper than the accusations. The officers pulled her forward, their grip firm, their steps brisk, as though afraid she might run.
The police car smelled faintly of old leather and stale cigarettes. The siren stayed off, but the city outside passed in a blur. Hailey tried to speak, to explain, but the officer in the passenger seat cut her off.
“Save it for your lawyer,” he said flatly, eyes fixed ahead.
By the time they reached the station, her mind was a storm. They led her into a cramped room, four walls the color of old paper, with a single metal table in the center. The air was heavy, oppressive, as though the room itself had been designed to strip people of their confidence.
A detective entered—mid-forties, tired eyes, the kind of man who looked like he’d seen it all and believed none of it. He slid a file across the table toward her. Inside were photographs—Julie’s crumpled body on the asphalt, tyre marks across the road, and a traffic camera still of a car identical to the one Chris had lent her.
“That’s the vehicle registered to you on the night of the incident,” the detective said, his voice calm but cutting. “Witnesses say they saw you speed off without stopping.”
“That’s not true!” Hailey’s voice cracked. “I stopped. I called 911. I stayed until they took her to the hospital!”
The detective leaned back, his gaze steady. “And yet, somehow, no record of that call exists in our logs.”
The words hit her like a punch. No record? Her fingers clenched into fists on the cold metal table. This was more than bad luck—this was deliberate. Someone was wiping away the pieces of the truth, one by one.
Hours passed in that room. She gave her statement, over and over, but it felt like throwing pebbles into the ocean—every word was swallowed by the tide of suspicion. Finally, they led her to a holding cell, the clang of the door behind her sealing her in a nightmare that refused to end.
That night, she lay on the narrow cot, staring at the ceiling, the hum of the fluorescent light above pressing into her skull. Every detail of the last few weeks replayed in her mind—Theodore’s sudden distance, the man in the café, the perfectly-timed messages, the missing call records. It all formed a puzzle, but the pieces refused to fit.
By morning, Chris showed up at the station, his face drawn and pale. “I’m getting you out,” he said through the bars, his voice low and urgent. “But Hailey… this is bigger than just the company or Julie. Someone’s setting you up from every angle.”
She leaned forward, her hands gripping the bars. “Then we have to find out who.”
Chris glanced over his shoulder, lowering his voice even more. “I think I have an idea where to start—but you’re not going to like it.
Chris’s eyes darted around the station before settling back on her.
“It’s Theodore,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.
The name hit her like ice water. “What are you talking about? He—he’s been trying to help me.”
Chris’s jaw tightened. “Has he? Or has he just been close enough to watch everything fall apart?” He slipped a folded piece of paper through the bars. “I dug into the metadata of the email that ‘you’ supposedly sent to the rival company. It didn’t come from your IP address. It came from a network registered under T.B. Holdings.”
Hailey froze. T.B.—Theodore Baggores. Her stomach knotted so hard she thought she might be sick. “That doesn’t mean—”
Chris cut her off. “It’s not just that. The night of Julie’s accident, there’s CCTV footage from a traffic camera near the intersection. You weren’t the only one there. Theodore’s car drove past the exact spot just minutes before you found her.”
Her throat went dry. “Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?”
“Because,” Chris said, glancing toward the officer at the desk, “if Theodore’s involved, then every second we talk here could be putting you in more danger.” He stepped closer to the bars, his voice now just a breath. “Someone’s cleaning up evidence. The missing 911 record? That’s no glitch. Whoever’s behind this has access to law enforcement channels.”
The words sank in, heavy and suffocating. This wasn’t just corporate sabotage—this was a coordinated effort to erase her life piece by piece.
Within the hour, Chris managed to post her bail, and they walked out into the grey morning air. The streets felt different now, as if the city itself was holding its breath.
In Chris’s car, he handed her a small flash drive. “Everything I’ve found is on here. Emails, IP logs, traffic cam footage—if something happens to me, you keep digging. Trust no one. Not Theodore. Not even the people at the station.”
Hailey turned the flash drive over in her palm. It was small, unassuming, but it suddenly felt heavier than anything she had ever held.
“What’s our next move?” she asked.
Chris’s gaze flicked to the rearview mirror. “First, we find out where Theodore was really going the night of Julie’s accident. Then,” he said, “we go after whoever’s pulling the strings.”
But as they pulled away from the station, Hailey’s phone lit up with a new text from an unknown number:
STOP DIGGING OR YOU’RE NEXT.