“I just need to sit down,” I mumbled, allowing myself to sway slightly.
But instead of sitting, I let my knees buckle and collapse to the kitchen floor, making sure to knock over the ceramic plate that had been drying on the counter. It shattered with a satisfying crash, adding drama to my performance. Then I lay perfectly still, and waited to learn the truth. The phone call ended, and I heard Alex’s footsteps moving toward the home office. This was my chance, maybe my only chance, but I had to be smart about it. One wrong move, one sound that seemed out of place, and Alex would know I’d been conscious the entire time. I waited until I heard the familiar sound of my laptop booting up, then slowly opened my eyes. The kitchen was dimly lit, and broken ceramic pieces surrounded me like evidence of my deception. My body achd from lying motionless on the hard floor, but adrenaline kept me focused. Moving as quietly as possible, I rolled onto my side and pulled my phone from my bra. The audio recording was still running. I had everything. Alex’s confession, his conversation with whoever was paying him, proof that he’d been drugging me for months. But I needed more than just audio. I needed evidence that would hold up. Evidence that would protect my company and destroy his plan. The sound of typing came from the office. Alex was already accessing my files, probably copying the final presentation materials right now. I had maybe 20 minutes before he finished and came back to check on me. I crawled toward the kitchen counter, staying low to avoid being seen through the doorway. My purse was on the counter where I’d left it, and inside was a small USB drive I used for backing up work files. If I could get to my laptop while Alex was distracted, I might be able to copy his communications, find evidence of who was paying him. But first, I needed help. Real help. I pulled up Dr. Wong’s contact information and sent a text.
“Emergency. Can’t call. Alex has been drugging me. Need police. Send help to my address.”
I included my home address and hit send, praying she would see it quickly. Then I scrolled to Detective Thompson’s number, a contact I’d gotten from a friend who’d dealt with corporate espionage at her company. I sent him a similar message, adding, “Corporate theft in progress. Have audio evidence.” The typing from the office continued. I could hear Alex muttering to himself, probably frustrated with my file organization system. Good. Let him struggle. I crept toward the hallway, staying close to the wall. The office door was partially open, and I could see the glow of my laptop screen. Alex sat with his back to the door, a USB drive plugged into the side of my computer. On the desk beside him was his phone and what looked like a small vial of clear liquid. The drug, physical evidence of what he’d been putting in my food. My phone buzzed with a text from Dr. Wong.
“On my way, called police. Stay safe.”
Another buzz from Detective Thompson.
“Units dispatched. Do not confront suspect. Stay hidden.”
Relief flooded through me, but I wasn’t safe yet. I needed to get that vial, and I needed to document what Alex was doing. Carefully, I raised my phone and started recording video through the crack in the door.
“Come on,” Alex muttered, clicking rapidly. “Where did she put the budget breakdown?”
He was stealing everything. Not just the presentation, but all my research, my strategies, months of work that could be worth millions to Morrison Industries competitors. I watched him copy file after file, his movements efficient and practiced. This wasn’t his first time doing this. My phone buzzed again. A text from an unknown number.
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