TCorp's lobby at 11 a.m. was an uneventful place. A receptionist stared at her monitor, a group of suits squatted the sofa-scape and talked in subdued voices, and a lanky youth leaned against a wall, browsing a company brochure with a frown.

The receptionist looked up at us. Her pout for being disturbed morphed into a smile as she saw Theresa. "Good morning, Miss Thorne."

I didn't know her, but I'd seen her before. Would she be aware that I had no business here, that I got kicked out? Security was but a phone call away.

Theresa nodded at the woman and continued through the VIP entrance beside the batch gates, not slowing down. Storm the place, get what we need, walk out—that's what we had agreed on.

I followed her like a duckling trailing its mother. An itch between my shoulder blades told me of the ragged crater the receptionist's stare was drilling there.

I didn't dare look back. We made a beeline for the elevators.

As we approached, one of them pinged. I held my breath as it opened. Its occupant was a middle-aged woman holding a cardboard tube. She got out, and we took her place. I hit the button for the accounting floor and the one for closing the doors.

We were alone.

"We're in," I said, "and still alive." My throat felt as constricted as the cabin we were caught in.

"Of course, why not? What could go wrong? I've read somewhere that the simplest plans are the best ones. And it doesn't get more simple than this." She smiled at me.

I knew several things that could go wrong, but I chose to be quiet.

The hallway on our floor was its usual, linoleum-floored self. Yet today it felt like a trap ready to spring at us.

We walked it to its end. The door to our office stood ajar. I peeked inside. Camille and Sandra sat at their desks, with their backs towards us. I nodded at Theresa—we had planned for her to go in first, in full-blown princess-mode, with me following in tow.

"Good morning," she said, her voice high-pitched and loud.

They both turned towards us, castors squeaking. When Camille saw Theresa, she brought her hand to her mouth.

"Miss Thorne?" Sandra said, then she saw me. "Anne? What are you doing here?"

Camille stared at us, her hand now back on her lap, her mouth hanging open.

"Miss Stevens..." True to our script, Theresa closed in on Sandra, giving me a free path to Camille. "The Board has asked us to retrieve some account information," Theresa said. "We need it right now. We're in the middle of a meeting and had to stop for it. If you'll excuse us, Anne just needs a moment."

I had reached Camille. "Hey, Camille. Sorry, we need to hurry. Please..." I motioned her to get up.

My computer login was bound to be deactivated, so we needed another account that was already open, and that would be Camille's.

"Er..." She looked at Sandra.

Sandra shrugged.

Camille got up.

"Thanks." I took her place.

Her screen's desktop was a tropical beachside bleeding gold in a sunset. I called up the accounting software, which greeted me with a welcome screen and a message saying it was updating its local database—10% done.

"Miss Thorne?" Bob's birdy voice.

30% done.

Bob Burleigh was the most dangerous person in this department because he was the most likely to suspect we were rogue. He might call Top Floor to confirm that our presence was legitimate.

50% done.

We had agreed that Theresa would try to keep him busy and happy if he showed up.

70% done. My hand squeezing the mouse was slippery with sweat.

She placed herself between him and me. "Oh, hi," she said. "You're Mr. Burleigh, right?"

90% done. My blouse was soaked.

"Yes. How can I help you?"

He hadn't acknowledged me yet. Had he seen me at all?

The software populated its toolbar and stood at attention. I brought up the search mask and entered the parameters, then I hit Go.

"Ah, you see," Theresa said, "we need to get some account data for the Board. It's urgent, they are waiting for it."

The list of the transactions popped up on the screen, and I sent them to the printer.

"We..." Bob hesitated. "Anne?"

I looked up. "Hey, Bob—"

Theresa interrupted me. "The issues with Ms. Anderson... they've been settled. She's now an assistant to the management. She's helping me with this."

I gifted Bob with my best business-as-usual smile. His gaze flitted back and forth between me and Theresa, a sparrow weighing the risk of being gobbled up against the chances for breadcrumbs.

I turned back to the screen to generate a pdf file of the list of transactions.

"You see, Bob," Theresa continued, the pitch of her voice losing an octave, "there's a number of irregularities the Board is looking at. Have you ever been contacted by my brother, Thierry, about some yachting expenses?"

I switched to Camille's e-mail client and sent the pdf off to my personal address.

"Er... yes, he was here to discuss them. It was about a couple of payments for a yacht. They were filed in the wrong account."

I deleted my email from Camille's Sent folder and switched back to her inbox, and then back to the accounting app.

"Well..." Theresa purred.

I quit the app and got up.

Theresa put a hand on Bob's shoulder and steered him to a window, away from the desks, talking in a hushed voice. I couldn't hear what she was saying.

I went to the printer, fished out the list, folded it, and stowed it away in my jacket's pocket.

Sandra and Camille stood close to each other, immobile. Camille's gaze was on the couple whispering at the window while Sandra frowned straight at me. I smiled. She raised her eyebrows and opened her mouth to speak.

I shook my head. "I'm done here, Theresa." The less they knew, the less likely they were to get entangled in this mess.

"Excellent," Theresa answered and turned back to Bob. "So, you see, this needs some further scrutiny."

He nodded slowly.

"Thanks, everyone." Theresa flashed a smile, first at Bob, then at my former colleagues.

"Bob." She nodded at him, then she made for the door.

I followed her. Leaving the office, I looked back. "See ya!"

Camille's mouth was still open, Sandra's frown had deepened, and Bob was in a hasty retreat to his own room.

The hallway was still deserted. Theresa grinned at me. I tried to smile back, but my face was too cramped.

A door opened ahead of us, and a man stepped out. Asian, tousled hair and dark-rimmed glasses. Black t-shirt with the writing I'M BINARY. Lawrence Liang from IT.

When he saw me, his features lit up—white teeth and the whites of his eyes in a honey-colored face. "Anne! I thought you... left?"

"Er..." I hadn't expected to see the man here—this wasn't in our script. "Just for a short time. Now I'm working on another floor."

"Anne, we need to leave," Theresa said.

Lawrence looked at my companion and froze.

"Sorry, Lawrence." I touched his forearm—warm, golden skin. "But we really have to go. Take care."

He looked back at me. "Yeah, sure... See you."

My attempt at a friendly nod was cut short as Theresa seized my wrist and dragged me away.

I turned my head to keep Lawrence in my sight. "And, I'm sorry for the car."

He stared for a second, frowning, then he smiled. "Ah, that... No problem, I've cleaned the rug."

Reaching the elevator, Theresa pushed the down button. "Worked quite well," she whispered, "don't you think so?"

Looking back along the hallway, I saw Lawrence still standing there, his gaze on us. I smiled at him. He gave me a small wave with his hand, stalled in awkward indecision, then turned away.

There went normalcy.

"He's cute," Theresa said. "And what was that about the rug?"

I didn't answer, not in the mood to discuss my uncontrolled eruptions. Taking a deep breath, I forced my gaze away from the man's retreating figure and looked at the numbers over the elevator doors instead. Two of the cabins were at the ground floor, two others somewhere above us.

We should take the stairs. As I opened my mouth to tell Theresa so, one of the ground floor numbers started counting up.

Treacly seconds later, the elevator chimed. A mechanism clicked, and its door oozed open. Once the gap was broad enough, we rushed in.

Inside, we were not alone. Two men in dark suits stood against the left wall.

Strange, why would they take the elevator up to this floor and not get out? I glanced at their faces and saw a bearded bullet-head grinning at me.

Ed, Thierry's driver.

"Hey ladies, long time no see." He pressed the button labeled –3.