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.

Didn't matter. I had one shot.

Get into that conference room before the papers hit ink, and I could flip this.

A sharp curve rushed up. I jerked the wheel. The rear kicked out, sliding wide.

Then—

A black pickup tore out of the trees.

No headlights. No plates.

Like a damn ghost, it came straight at me.

Bang.

The crash hit hard and loud.

My SUV got shoved sideways—six feet easy—almost tipping into the ditch.

The pickup didn't stop. It backed up, lined me up, and gunned it again.

Yeah. Not blocking me.

They were here to kill me.

I caught the driver for a split second—

Black mask. Cap low. But that gold watch? It flashed in the sun.

I knew that watch.

Looked just like the one Jay gave security captain Peter Black for his birthday.

So that's the game. Teaming up with security.

That explained the keys. It explained how my car vanished without a trace.

Rage burned through me.

You wanna ram me to death?

I've spent ten years tearing up highways, slipping past eighteen-wheelers before you knew what you were doing.

I slammed it into reverse, barely dodging the second hit.

The second it adjusted—I floored it and drove straight into its rear side.

Blind spot. Weak point.

Boom.

The pickup lost control and slammed headfirst into a roadside tree. White smoke poured from the hood.

I slammed the brakes, grabbed the wrench, and jumped out.

The pickup door flew open.

The masked driver stumbled out. Saw the wrench—then bolted.

"Stop!"

I took two steps after him.

Pointless.

He knew the terrain. Gone in seconds, swallowed by the trees.

I didn't chase.

No time.

I walked back to the pickup.

Something sat on the driver's seat—a blue card.

I picked it up.

Access card. [Northpoint Corp Security Department – General Access.]

On the back, scrawled in marker:

[Peter.]

Peter's card.

Hard proof.

I slipped it into my pocket, then glanced into the truck bed.

Broken headstones. A bucket of red paint. Print scraps from the photo they used for that headstone.

All of it. Just sitting there.

I pulled out the old phone and snapped photos, shot video—everything.

Jay's little "gift."

Yeah. I was sending it right back.

I climbed back into my wrecked car.

Hood dented. Tires shot. Didn't matter.

In the rearview, my face was streaked with dirt. Eyes lit up.

Jay, you wanna play? Let's play.

I'll make you regret pushing me this far.

***

I floored the battered SUV and aimed straight for the city.

People kept staring as I'd lost it.

Yeah. Didn't care.

Checked the time.

Ten minutes.