I sat in the driver's seat as the GPS chimed, "You've arrived at Northpoint Corp. Check-in successful."

I looked up.

Graves. Nothing but graves.

My phone buzzed. My boss tagged me in the group chat:

[Zane Zander, system says you checked in ten minutes ago. Where the hell are you? The whole company's waiting. Learned how to spoof your GPS to slack off?]

Cold sweat slid down my back.

I stared at the fresh headstone outside my window.

My photo was on it.

My hands shook. I tried to send my boss a video—no signal. Just dead bars.

No service.

So how did I check in?

Worse—

In the rearview mirror, someone in my exact outfit rose slowly from behind a dirt mound.

Could it be... Was I already "dead"?

I whipped my head around.

The figure in the mirror flickered—then vanished into the weeds.

My heart slammed against my ribs.

Before I could steady myself, my phone rang.

The screen flashed: [Boss.]

No signal... right?

I fumbled and answered.

"Zane Zander! What the hell are you pulling?" Ryan Lloyd's voice blasted through the phone. "Meeting's about to start. Senior management is waiting for your report. Where are you?"

I swallowed. My throat felt like sand. "Mr. Lloyd, I—I ran into something weird. I followed the GPS. It said I arrived, but I'm in a cemetery!"

A beat of silence.

Then he exploded.

"A cemetery? You still drunk? The system shows you clocked in at your desk at 8:55. It's 9:10. You're not on any camera! Faking sales wasn't enough? Now you're spoofing attendance?"

"I didn't use anything!" I shot back. "I'm in a cemetery. My headstone's right outside the car!"

The call disconnected.

I stared at the dark screen. A chill shot up my spine.

Check-in successful?

I was here. So who checked in for me?

I looked at the headstone again.

The stone was gray and fresh—too fresh.

A photo was pasted on it.

My employee ID photo from when I first joined.

Below it, letters in red:

[Zane Zander]

[Placed by Jay Zander]

Jay Zander.

My younger brother.

My biggest rival at Northpoint Corp.

My head buzzed.

Last night at the department dinner, Jay kept refilling my drink.

He helped me into the car. Said he'd called a driver.

Then I woke up here.

This wasn't supernatural.

Someone was trying to bury me.

I shoved the door open. My legs buckled, almost dropping me into the mud.

Weeds and dirt mounds stretched everywhere. Cold wind cut through them.

I had to get back.

If I made it back, I could fix this.

I reached for the ignition—

Ping.

A message popped up.

Northpoint Corp group chat.

Jay posted a screenshot of the attendance log:

[Zane, if you don't want to show up, just say it. Pulling a fake check-in like this drags the whole department down. Mr. Lloyd hates fraud. You're asking for trouble.]

The group chat blew up.

People who never liked me piled on:

[Always thought Zane's numbers were off. Guess this isn't his first time.]

[If he's faking check-ins, what about those old contracts...?]

I stared at the screen. My knuckles went white.

Jay, you're ruthless. You're trying to crush me.

I opened the camera, ready to record and drop it in the group.

If they saw this—

If they saw the stone with my name—

They'd know I was being set up.

I aimed at the headstone and hit record.

The screen flickered.

Battery dropped from 80 percent to 1 percent.

[Low Battery. Shutting down.]

The phone went black.

"Damn it!"

I tossed it onto the passenger seat.

Someone messed with it. No doubt.

Footsteps sounded behind the car.

Rustle... rustle.

Dry weeds crunching.

My eyes snapped to the rearview mirror.

The guy in my exact suit was back. Less than thirty feet behind me, gripping a shovel, staring at my car.

Mask on. Just his eyes showing.

And yeah—those eyes? Straight-up murderous.

***

Every hair on my body spiked.

Not a ghost. A man.

Jay's guy.

They wanted me stuck here—pin the "clocking in without showing up" crap on me.

I slammed it into gear and floored it.

The engine roared. Tires screamed.

Bang.

The car jerked hard to one side.

Metal screamed.

The tire blew.

I slammed the brakes. The front end smashed into a dead tree.

Airbag blew—my head spun.

I shoved the door open and stumbled out.

All four tires—slashed. Clean cuts. On purpose.

Shovel guy didn't run.

He lifted it and started toward me.

"Who the hell are you?" I yelled, snatching up a rock.

He stopped—like he didn't expect me to push back.

"How much did Jay pay you?" I locked on him. "Kidnapping, threats, wrecking my car—that's years in prison!"

Nothing.

Just a cold laugh.

Then he turned and ran.

He moved fast and smoothly, disappearing behind a fresh grave in seconds.

"Don't run!" I charged after him, rock in hand.

I rounded the dirt mound.

Nothing.

Empty.

Just a suit jacket on the ground—same as mine.

Psychological games. Make me think I saw a ghost. Make me doubt myself.

If I cracked, Jay would love it.

The place was dead. Not a soul around.

I forced a breath. Get it together.

The only thing that mattered was getting back to the company.

Mr. Lloyd said the meeting had already started.

If I didn't make it in an hour, I was done.

Not just fired—

Branded a fraud. Blacklisted.

I went back to the car and plugged in my phone.

The screen flickered on.

Still no signal.

Yeah—this phone was messed with.

Fake location locked in. Signal blocked. Even the battery readout was fake.

Jay used to work in tech. This was his lane.

I slammed my fist on the wheel.

Just roll over and lose?

No.

Hell no.

Then it hit me—emergency kit in the trunk.

My old phone. The one I replaced.

Backup. Powered off the whole time. No way Jay knew.

I rushed to the back, popped the trunk, dug through the dusty kit.

Found it.

It was my old phone, one corner cracked.

My hands shook as I hit the power button.

Screen lit up.

Thirty percent.

Signal—two bars. Weak, but it'd do.

I pulled up the map.

Blue dot blinking:

Westside Cemetery—abandoned section.

Twenty-five miles from downtown.

I glanced at my main phone.

Still dead. Same frozen nav screen.

Northpoint Corp parking garage. Lower Monterra.

Just like I thought. My main phone was hijacked.

The old phone buzzed.

A text. From Mr. Lloyd. Company-wide.

"Due to Zane Zander's serious violations, his employment will be terminated in one hour. Jay Zander will take over as Sales Manager."

An ultimatum.

One hour.

Right now, Jay was probably in that conference room, soaking it in. Thinking I was stuck out here. Thinking I'd crack.

I checked the time.

9:20 a.m.

If I pushed it, I could make it in forty minutes.

I tossed the rock and yanked the spare and jack out of the trunk.

Ten years on the road—I could swap a tire in five minutes.

Jay Zander, just wait.

I'll show you what digging your own grave really means.

***

I ditched my jacket, rolled my sleeves, and got to work.

Jack up the car. Crack the lug nuts. Yank the tire. Slam on the spare. Clean. Fast. No wasted motion.

Sweat stung my eyes. I didn't blink it away. Every second mattered.

Five minutes later—

The spare was on, and the other three were badly damaged.

Didn't matter. I knew this SUV. Even if the rims scraped dirt the whole way, I was getting out of this dump.

I slid into the driver's seat and fired it up. The car lurched, metal grinding loudly and uglily.

I tightened my grip on the wheel, eyes locked on the rutted road ahead. Pedal down. The SUV surged like it was bleeding out. Mud flew everywhere.

I called Mr. Lloyd on the old phone.

No answer.

Yeah—either pissed, or already buying Jay's garbage.

I texted the receptionist. [Tell Mr. Lloyd not to sign the termination papers! I've got proof! I'll be there in forty minutes!]

Sent. Phone tossed to the passenger seat. Eyes back on the road.

Eighty.

On gravel like this? Yeah—basically daring death to blink.