Chapter 3 - Five Minutes to Become Guilty
Four minutes and thirty-eight seconds.
Harley did not look at Peter.
She looked at the phone.
“What exactly is uploading?”
Peter swallowed.
“Authorization packets.”
“To where?”
“Federal freight compliance.”
Cassian’s eyes narrowed.
“You’re sending evidence to the government?”
“I’m sending records that make her look like the coordinator.”
Harley finally looked at him.
Peter flinched.
Good.
“Why?”
“I didn’t create it.”
“That is not an answer.”
“They did.”
“Who is they?”
Peter looked toward Cassian.
“He’ll kill me.”
Cassian’s expression did not change.
Harley stepped between them.
Cassian frowned.
She ignored him.
“Peter. Look at me.”
He did.
“You left me standing at an altar in front of two hundred people.”
“I know.”
“You forged my signature.”
“I didn’t forge the first one.”
“What does that mean?”
“Harley—”
“What does that mean?”
Peter’s voice broke.
“Someone already had your signature template.”
The countdown hit 03:57.
Harley’s logistics training overrode panic.
She knew Brewer’s compliance portal.
Uploads required two-factor confirmation from a registered terminal.
The phone alone was not enough.
“Where is the second authorization?”
Peter said nothing.
She looked around.
Then understood.
The warehouse office.
“Marco,” she called.
Cassian held up a hand.
“No one moves until we know what he rigged.”
Harley turned on him.
“We have less than four minutes.”
“I know.”
“You don’t know the system.”
“I know traps.”
“This is not one of your docks.”
Cassian looked at Peter.
“Is the office trapped?”
Peter shook his head too quickly.
Cassian took one step.
Peter backed away.
“No. No, I swear.”
Cassian looked at Harley.
“Show me the office.”
They moved together.
Peter remained under Marco’s watch.
Inside the glass-walled office, Harley saw the old desktop terminal glowing.
A security token window flashed.
CONFIRM COMPLIANCE SUBMISSION.
She reached for the mouse.
Cassian caught himself before touching her arm.
“Can you cancel it?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
“No.”
“Honest.”
“Annoying.”
She clicked CANCEL.
ACCESS DENIED.
Her stomach sank.
The system wanted the physical security key assigned to site management.
Harley opened the drawer.
Empty.
“Peter.”
From the warehouse floor, he said, “I don’t have it.”
Harley looked at him through the glass.
“You know exactly where it is.”
“I swear.”
Cassian walked out.
Peter’s face changed.
“You stay away from me.”
Cassian kept walking.
Peter ran.
He made it six steps.
Marco blocked the aisle.
Peter spun and shoved a rolling cart between them.
Cassian reached him before he could turn again.
One hand caught the back of Peter’s shirt.
Peter twisted and swung wildly.
Cassian avoided the punch and drove one short blow into Peter’s ribs.
Not theatrical.
Not repeated.
Peter folded with a grunt and hit one knee.
Harley stared.
Cassian looked at her immediately.
Not proud.
Checking.
“You wanted me to intimidate people,” he said.
“That was before the demonstration.”
Peter coughed.
“The key is in my shoe.”
Harley closed her eyes.
“Of course it is.”
Marco removed the small hardware token.
Harley ran back to the terminal.
01:32.
She inserted it.
The screen changed.
AUTHORIZE / REJECT.
Harley selected REJECT.
A password field appeared.
She typed hers.
INVALID.
Again.
INVALID.
Peter called from the floor.
“They changed it.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
Cassian crouched in front of him.
Peter stared at the ground.
Cassian said quietly, “You know.”
Peter looked up.
“Dominic.”
Cassian became still.
Marco did too.
Harley noticed.
“Who is Dominic?”
Cassian did not answer at first.
The timer reached forty-eight seconds.
Peter did.
“Dominic Vescari. Cassian’s chief financial officer.”
Harley looked at Cassian.
“That sounds important.”
“It is.”
“Password?”
Cassian’s face had gone cold.
“If Dominic built the packet, try Belladonna.”
Harley typed it.
Accepted.
The countdown stopped at twenty-two seconds.
UPLOAD REJECTED.
She exhaled.
Then the screen displayed a new line.
REMOTE SESSION ACTIVE.
Harley stared.
Someone else was still inside the system.
A chat box opened.
HELLO, HARLEY.
Her stomach turned.
Another message.
YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO BE MARRIED BY NOW.
Cassian came into the office.
He read it.
For the first time since she met him, his control visibly cracked.
Not much.
Just enough.
“Dominic,” he said.
The message continued.
PETER FAILED.
YOU DON’T HAVE TO.
Harley typed before Cassian could stop her.
WHAT DO YOU WANT?
Three dots appeared.
Then:
THE SAME THING PETER WAS SUPPOSED TO GIVE US.
ACCESS.
Harley looked at Cassian.
“To what?”
Peter answered from the warehouse.
“Not Brewer.”
Everyone turned.
Peter struggled to stand.
“The marriage was never about her warehouse job.”
Harley walked toward him.
“What was it about?”
He looked ashamed.
“Your father.”
“My father sells commercial insurance.”
“No.”
Peter shook his head.
“Your father used to audit port liability claims.”
Harley’s chest tightened.
Robert had worked for Port Authority insurers before retirement.
Peter continued.
“He kept copies of something from fifteen years ago.”
“Copies of what?”
Peter’s eyes moved to Cassian.
“Records that could destroy half the old families running the waterfront.”
Cassian’s voice was very quiet.
“What records?”
Peter laughed once, painfully.
“You really don’t know.”
“No.”
“That’s why Dominic chose her.”
Harley felt suddenly cold.
“Chose me?”
Peter looked at her.
“I didn’t meet you by accident.”
The sentence was familiar in the worst possible way.
“Peter.”
“I was told to get close to Robert Grant’s daughter.”
Her mouth went dry.
“You proposed because of my father?”
“At first.”
Cassian stood beside her.
Not touching.
Peter looked at both of them.
“Then I loved you.”
Harley laughed.
A broken sound.
“Congratulations. You managed to make that sentence worse.”
Before the office chat flashed again, Harley looked at Peter and understood something she had resisted all afternoon.
He had not become a different man at the altar.
He had simply run out of room to keep his separate lives apart.
The grocery lists, the Sunday coffee, the engagement photos, the forged freight records—none of them canceled the others. That was what made betrayal so disorienting. The ordinary memories were real too.
The office chat flashed again.
May you like
One final message.
ASK ROBERT WHAT HE HID IN THE CHURCH.
