EMMA

With every detail we mapped out, I saw just how reckless I had been last time. Walking in blind, unprepared—it was a miracle I had made it out alive.

Whenever I pulled some insanely brazen move during a con or heist, Eric used to say I was like a cat with nine lives. But now, I couldn't help but wonder how many of those lives I had left. Probably not many.

But Declan's murder and Eric's close call with getting arrested had affected me more than I wanted to admit. Maybe I should have listened to Eric and taken some time away from New York, cleared my head, instead of gambling with a lengthy prison sentence—or worse.

But this time, I felt optimistic. We had planned everything to the last detail, and Eric had already hacked into the system with a phishing email that mimicked their IT department's communications flawlessly.

I was confident we would find something—anything—in Vitale's office, either in his safe or on his computer, which Eric would take care of.

With everything in place, we were ready to meet the real estate agent again, slipping into our roles as a wealthy couple searching for their dream home.

Vitale was still overseas on business, but he was scheduled to return to the States in just two days. We were lucky Mr. Davis had been able to squeeze us into his schedule before that.

Eric and I walked side by side toward the conference room where Mr. Davis was waiting.

Eric looked sharp in a designer suit, the black wig and oversized glasses altering his usual sharp features. I was dressed in an expensive jumpsuit, my long blonde wig—Clara's signature—framing my face. Eric carried a sleek briefcase, packed with everything we needed for our plan.

As we approached the conference room, Eric and I exchanged a knowing glance before stepping inside.

Mr. Davis greeted us with a wide smile and pulled me into a brief hug. "Clara! Wonderful to see you again." He turned to Eric and shook his hand. "And Mr. Carrington, I'm glad you could join us."

Eric, looking unimpressed, flashed him a quick smile before checking his watch. "Yes, but I'm short on time. Shall we get started?"

For a moment, Mr. Davis looked like someone had popped his balloon, but he quickly recovered, offering another enthusiastic nod. "Of course, of course." He pulled out a chair for me before sitting down himself.

"I've selected some of our finest properties for you to consider," Mr. Davis said as he started a slideshow on the screen.

We feigned interest as he cycled through images of sprawling estates and high-rise penthouses, each more extravagant than the last.

Pausing on a particularly sleek penthouse with floor-to-ceiling windows and a rooftop infinity pool, Mr. Davis smiled proudly. "This one boasts breathtaking views of Central Park and top-tier luxury amenities. Truly the epitome of upscale living."

Eric barely glanced at the screen. "It's nice. But does it come with a wine cellar and a private bowling alley? We need something that stands out. Something... unique."

I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing as Mr. Davis paled for what felt like the hundredth time.

Clearing his throat, he forced a smile. "Ah, well, we can certainly discuss customizations. Many of our properties can be tailored to meet your exact specifications."

Eric and I shared a knowing look before I leaned forward, tilting my head. "Oh, what about a helipad? We can't be expected to deal with city traffic, you know."

Davis' eyes lit up as if I had just given him a lifeline. "Of course! This property includes a helipad, a private cinema, and even a heated driveway for the winter months."

I turned to Eric, who nodded approvingly, maintaining his stoic businessman persona. "Perfect," he said. Then, after a slight pause, he added, "But before we proceed, I need to excuse myself for a moment. Nature calls, and when it does, it's like a relentless creditor. You understand."

Davis' smile grew slightly strained. "Of course, sir. The restroom is just down the hall to your left."

Eric nodded and strolled out of the room to work on the next phase of the plan—manipulating the cameras in the adjacent conference room.

Meanwhile, I kept Davis occupied, turning up the eccentric demands. "And what about a panic room?" I asked, feigning deep concern. "Or better yet, a panic suite. You never know when you'll need to host a last-minute dinner party during an apocalypse. I mean, Mark Zuckerberg must have one of these in his new underground home, right?"

Davis blinked, clearly struggling to keep up. "We... we can definitely explore those options," he stammered. "It's all about creating the perfect living environment for you."

I grinned and continued my over-the-top routine for a few more minutes until Eric finally reappeared, his expression neutral but his eyes glinting. Mission accomplished.

It was time to wrap this up. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Davis," I said, standing. "We still have a lot to consider, but we'll be in touch soon."

Davis looked visibly relieved as he shook our hands. "I look forward to it. Feel free to reach out with any questions."

With that, Eric and I exited the room and slipped quietly into the adjacent one—the room Eric had rigged so that, to security, it appeared empty.

Without hesitation, Eric unlatched his briefcase and pulled out two coveralls, identical to those worn by the cleaning staff. This disguise would help us blend in and avoid drawing too much unwanted attention.

We pulled the coveralls over our clothes. Eric checked his phone, his face unreadable. "Ready?" he asked.

There was a flicker of doubt in his eyes, but it disappeared almost as fast as it had come.

I nodded. "Let's do this."

Eric's fingers moved swiftly across his phone, initiating the sequence that would send the security team scrambling.

Seconds later, alarms blared from the lower floors. A fake break-in. Footsteps thundered as guards rushed to investigate. Even the ones on Vitale's floor—Eric confirmed it as he monitored the security feed.

"Let's go," he said. "We don't have much time."

We pulled on latex gloves and slipped out of the room unnoticed. The chaos on the lower floors had every guard preoccupied, making our movements invisible in the grand scheme of things.

Reaching the staff elevator without incident, Eric bypassed the security code with ease. No need to steal a keycard this time.

As we stepped inside, I couldn't help but glance up at the camera, then over at Eric. "Are you sure we're in the clear?"

His eyes stayed glued to his phone, monitoring the system. "Positive. I've looped the camera feeds. They'll only see what I want them to see."

The elevator ascended, a soft hum filling the silence. The moment the doors slid open on Vitale's floor, Eric double-checked the security feed to confirm it was empty. Then we moved—fast but silent—toward his office.

Even though Eric was confident he could crack the electronic lock without tripping any alarms, I insisted we use the Gremlin again. It had saved me before, and I wasn't about to test our luck now.

It worked like a charm.

We slipped inside, locking the door behind us. The guards would be on edge after the alarms. If one of them decided to do a sweep, the door had to look untouched.

On Eric's phone, we watched as the security team returned and—just like we expected—started combing through the floor. When one of them reached the office, I held my breath.

The guard tested the handle. Locked. He gave a small nod to his colleagues and moved on.

Only then did I exhale.

"Alright," Eric said, already moving toward Vitale's desk. "Let's get to work."

He slid into Vitale's leather chair, fingers dancing over the keyboard as he began hacking into the computer.

I made my way to the large painting on the wall. The moment I took it down, the massive titanium safe behind it gleamed under the dim light.

I ran my fingers over its surface, analyzing every detail. It was identical to the ones I had been practicing on for days.

"How's it looking?" Eric asked without looking up.

My fingers traced the safe's keypad and dial. I smirked, feeling a familiar rush. "Nothing I can't handle."

He let out a low chuckle and kept typing.

I kneeled on the plush carpet, flipping open the briefcase. One by one, I laid the tools I needed out beside me. I then took a slow, deliberate breath, centering myself before rising to my feet again.

I scanned the office, exhaling in relief at the absence of cameras and the fact that nobody on the outside could hear us. The room was sealed tight, soundproofed—no prying eyes, no unwanted ears. It made sense. A man like Vitale would want his dealings to remain buried, his conversations unheard. But the thought sent a shiver down my spine.

How many people had stepped into this very room, unaware it would be the last place they ever stood? How many pleas for mercy had been swallowed whole by these walls, never making it past the thick layer of silence?

And now, standing in the heart of Vitale's empire, I couldn't shake the chilling thought—would we be next?

Focus, Emma.

Shaking my head, I pressed a sensitive electronic stethoscope against the safe's surface, adjusting the earpieces. My fingers turned the dial, slow and precise, listening for the telltale ticks and shifts inside.

Every movement was precise, my focus narrowing to the delicate mechanics beneath my fingertips. The rhythm of the lock's inner workings played like a whispered melody, one only a trained ear could interpret.

Click.

The first tumbler fell into place, and a satisfied smirk ghosted across my lips. I barely had time to savor it before paranoia crept in.

Was that a footstep outside?

My breath hitched, ears straining against the silence. Nothing. Just my nerves playing tricks on me.

Exhaling slowly, I forced my hands to steady. There was no room for mistakes. Not now.

I turned the dial again, listening—waiting. Another faint click. Then another.

"Gotcha," I murmured under my breath, a thrill of satisfaction coursing through me.

"You make it look easy." I heard Eric say.

Still focused on the safe, I grinned. "Years of practice. Just have to find the rhythm."

Okay, one more to go.

The room faded away as I honed in on the final tumbler. Every breath, every sound outside this moment, ceased to exist. It was just me, the lock, and the delicate dance of pressure and sound.

Click.

"We're in," I said in almost a whisper, but I knew Eric had heard me as he left his spot behind Vitale's desk, moving to stand beside me.

Carefully, I entered the deciphered combination on the keypad. A quiet whir followed as the safe's locking mechanism disengaged. The heavy door released with a soft hiss, swinging open to reveal its contents.

For a moment, Eric and I just stared.

Stacks of documents. USB drives. Offshore account statements. Surveillance photos of people who were likely long gone. Small antiquities, no doubt stolen, and several velvet pouches that, when opened, revealed shimmering diamonds.

Vitale had left a treasure trove of incriminating evidence sitting right here in his office.

The arrogance. He probably thought that by keeping it close, he could wield it as leverage when necessary—or destroy it before anyone could use it against him. A man like Vitale didn't believe in vulnerability. He believed in control. But sometimes, control bred complacency, and complacency bred mistakes.

And this? This was the mistake that would cost him everything.

These documents, these files, these meticulously kept records—they weren't just evidence. They were the smoking gun. More than enough for the FBI to issue an arrest warrant, to build a rock-solid case that even his high-powered lawyers couldn't sweep under the rug.

"We've hit the jackpot," Eric said.

"You can say that again." I pulled a USB drive from the pile, examining it, still a bit in disbelief. "We need to make copies of everything."

Eric was already a step ahead, pulling his laptop from his bag. He worked fast, connecting the first drive, his fingers flying over the keyboard as he initiated the transfer.

Beside him, the portable scanner we had brought whirred to life, rapidly digitizing stacks of documents. I sifted through the pile, skimming for anything particularly damning before handing batches over to Eric for scanning.

"How long will this take?" I asked, flipping through another folder.

Eric didn't look up. "Shouldn't take too long. This scanner's fast," he muttered, his fingers flying over the keyboard. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he glanced at the open safe. His lips quirked with a look I knew all too well.

"What about those diamonds?" He nodded toward the velvet-lined case inside. "A couple wouldn't hurt, don't you think?"

I shot him a sharp look. "We agreed—nothing that can be traced back to us. It's not worth the risk."

He exhaled a dramatic sigh, but nodded, returning his attention to the laptop. "Fine, fine. No diamonds. But I'm just saying, a little bonus wouldn't hurt."

Ignoring him, I kept organizing the paperwork, double-checking for anything we might have missed. Meanwhile, Eric worked fast, transferring the files to an encrypted folder on his laptop before shifting back to Vitale's computer to extract the last of the data directly from the system.

While he worked, I set about restoring everything in the safe, meticulously placing the files and valuables back exactly as we had found them. No disturbances, no clues that we had ever been there.

Once everything was back in place, I joined Eric at the computer, glancing at my watch. My pulse quickened.

"We're running out of time," I said. "Shift change is coming up."

Eric, ever the picture of calm, gave a small nod. "Almost done."

I tapped my fingers against my thigh, the weight of what we had found pressing heavy on my chest. If this wasn't enough to take Vitale down, nothing would be.

And if we got caught before we made it out?

We wouldn't make it out. Simple as that.

Eric tapped the final key, ejecting the drive. "Done. Let's get out of here."

I helped him put the desk and computer back in order, making sure everything looked untouched. Then we moved to the door, waiting for the guards to clear out.

But then... things went wrong.

The security team stayed put. Instead of leaving as expected, they remained in position while the next shift arrived early. Now, both teams stood together, their overlap dragging on too long—leaving us with no opening to slip out unnoticed. Our escape window was closing fast.

"Shit," Eric muttered, his eyes darting between me and the door. "The alarms must have put them on high alert. We need a Plan B."

I scanned the office, biting my lip. "Vitale's always ahead of the game. He wouldn't risk getting trapped in his own office—there has to be an escape route. We just need to think like him."

Eric gave a sharp nod, and we split up to search.

I ran my hands over the dark wood paneling, looking for any inconsistencies, while Eric examined the desk and bookshelves.

"Think, Emma. Where would a paranoid crime lord hide an exit?" I muttered to myself, biting my lip until I tasted blood.

My gaze flicked to a side door—the entrance to Vitale's private bathroom. Without wasting a second, I pushed it open and slipped inside. The space was as over-the-top as the office—polished marble floors, a gilded mirror reflecting the soft glow of wall sconces, and sleek, high-end fixtures. Lavish, but was it practical?

"I'm checking the bathroom," I called out to Eric. "Keep an eye on the guards."

I ran my fingers along the paneling, searching for any flaw in the smooth, dark wood. My pulse pounded in my ears as I pressed against different sections, hoping to find some hidden mechanism—a latch, a hollow space, anything.

My hands glided over the sleek surface, each panel merging flawlessly into the next. Doubt gnawed at me. What if I was wrong? What if there was no hidden escape, no secret passage?

Then—something.

The faintest ridge. Barely there, but enough. My fingertips traced a subtle indentation near the corner, so slight it was almost an illusion. My pulse quickened. Holding my breath, I pressed down.

A soft click broke the silence.

A thin seam split the wood, revealing a hidden button.

Excitement surged through me. "Bingo."

I pressed the button, and with a soft mechanical hum, a section of the wall slid open, revealing a narrow, dimly lit passageway stretching into darkness.

"Found it!" I whispered sharply, peeking through the gap before calling over my shoulder. "Eric, over here."

Eric was at my side in an instant, his eyes widening at the hidden door. "You've got to be kidding me."

"Never underestimate a paranoid crime lord."

He grinned. "Let's go."

We stepped inside, and Eric carefully shut the panel behind us, ensuring it locked back into place. No sign of our escape.

The passage was narrow, the walls pressing in close, swallowing us in dim shadows. The air was thick with dust and the faint scent of aged wood, untouched by time. Each step echoed faintly, the sound swallowed by the confined space.

My breath felt too loud, my pulse hammering in my ears as I fought the gnawing thought that this might not lead to safety—but to a dead end. But I couldn't think like that. Not now.

"Vitale must've had this built as a last resort," I whispered, my voice laced with both apprehension and the slightest glimmer of hope.

Eric nodded, his voice equally hushed. "Let's hope it actually leads somewhere."

We moved quickly, winding through the narrow tunnels. The air was thick, musty, the low ceiling making it feel more claustrophobic with every step.

At last, we reached an exit door.

Eric cracked it open slightly, scanning the area before motioning for me to follow.

We found ourselves in a discreet service corridor. An unused trash cart sat against the wall—convenient. Too convenient. Either we were insanely lucky or someone had left it there for a reason.

Eric didn't waste time questioning it. He grabbed the cart and placed the briefcase inside.

Pulling up the building layout on his phone, he pinpointed our next move. "There's a service elevator down the hall. It leads to the basement and the loading dock. We can slip out that way."

We moved fast, keeping our heads down. Eric pushed the cart. I adjusted my uniform and cap. The goal was simple—blend in.

As we stepped into the hallway, the guards barely glanced at us. Just two workers finishing up a shift. Nothing suspicious.

With measured steps, we made our way toward the elevator. Too fast would raise alarms. Too slow would make us a target.

A guard leaned against the wall near the elevator, scrolling through his phone. My pulse spiked. Then his gaze flicked up—just for a second. I kept my head down.

Keep walking. Don't look back.

I pressed the button for the elevator, forcing myself to breathe normally. The soft ding of arrival made me jump, but I masked it by stepping inside smoothly. Eric followed after me with the cart.

The elevator descended, its hum the only sound between us. Neither of us dared to speak. When we reached the basement, we slipped into the basement, following the signs to the loading dock.

At the final exit, Eric quickly disabled the alarm with his phone, and we slipped outside.

The afternoon air hit me like a wave. Cool. Free.

I let out a shaky breath, scanning the alley one last time. "We made it."

Eric didn't waste a second. He grabbed the briefcase while I kicked off the last remnants of our disguise. We abandoned the trash cart and hurried toward the parking lot, our steps quick but controlled, careful not to draw any attention.

Slipping into the car, we pulled away smoothly, blending into the city traffic. The tension in my chest eased slightly as Vitale's towering building disappeared in the rearview mirror.

Once we were a safe distance away, Eric pulled into a quiet side street and killed the engine. Without a word, he unlatched the briefcase and pulled out his laptop. The screen flickered to life, casting a cold blue glow over his face as he plugged in the drive taken from Vitale's computer and initiated the transfer.

I leaned over, watching the data flood the screen. Every document, every transaction, every thread connecting Vitale to his empire of crime.

"Think it's enough?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Eric's fingers danced over the keyboard. "If this doesn't bring him down, nothing will."

He uploaded the data, along with the scanned documents, to a secure cloud storage, ensuring multiple backups. Then, he drafted an anonymous email to the FBI, outlining the evidence and its urgency. He even attached Vitale's plane ticket, making it clear they had a narrow window to act.

We also made sure the email would go directly to Jake and his boss at White Collar. No room for leaks. No chance of it falling into the wrong hands.

Eric hovered over the send button for a second longer than necessary. Then, with a sharp breath, he clicked.

A heavy silence filled the car.

"It's done," he said, leaning back against the headrest. "Now we wait."

I exhaled slowly, my grip tightening on the seat.

Your move, Jake.