Chapter 2 He looks suspicious

Ariana stood up from the couch and walked to her bedroom. She changed out of her paint-stained clothes into a plain black t-shirt and jeans. She grabbed her keys and a small flashlight from the drawer, then left the apartment, locking the door behind her.

The evening air was cool as she walked to the bus stop. She checked the schedule on her phone and saw the next bus to Cross Enterprise's office building would arrive in seven minutes. She sat on the bench and waited, her mind focused on what she needed to do.

When the bus arrived, she boarded, swiped her card, and took a seat near the back. The bus ride to Cross Enterprise felt endless. Every bump in the road jarred her nerves. She sat near the back, away from the few passengers who boarded and exited quietly. She kept her head down, her bag clutched tightly on her lap. She got off at the stop closest to the office and walked the remaining two blocks. The building was dark except for the security light near the entrance. After ascending the elevator through the underground parking lot, she used her key to unlock the front door of the hallway leading to her father's office and stepped inside, flipping on the lights.

The office looked the same as always-neat but worn. Her father's desk sat in the corner, piled with paperwork. She went straight to the filing cabinet behind it and pulled open the top drawer. She started sorting through the financial records, looking for anything unusual.

After ten minutes of searching, she found a folder labeled "Vendor Payments – Q3." Inside, several invoices had red marks next to them, along with handwritten notes she didn't recognize. The amounts didn't match the company's usual suppliers. She took photos of each page with her phone.

A noise from the hallway made her freeze. She turned off the flashlight and listened. Footsteps. Someone was inside the building.

She closed the drawer quietly and moved toward the back exit. Before she could reach it, the office door swung open. A tall, middle-aged man in a dark jacket stood there, his expression unreadable.

"Ariana," he said. "You shouldn't be here."

She recognized him-Daniel Collins, the company's operations manager. He worked with her father for years, oversaw operations, and handled most of the daily affairs. Ariana had never liked him-Tonight, he looked even sharper in his dark jacket, but there was no friendliness in his face. Just suspicion.

"I needed some files," she said, keeping her voice steady.

Daniel stepped closer. "It's not safe. The police might come back. You could be interfering with their investigations."

She held up the folder. "Then maybe you can explain why these payments don't add up. Who approved them?"

His jaw tightened. "That's not your concern."

She slipped the folder into her bag. "It is now."

Daniel's hand shot out, grabbing her wrist. "Give it back."

She yanked free and backed toward the door. "Tell me what's going on, Daniel."

He didn't answer. Instead, he pulled out his phone and dialed a number. "She's here," he said quietly.

Ariana didn't wait to hear more. She turned and ran out of the office. Down the back hallway. Her footsteps echoed off the walls as she shoved open the exit door and bolted into the night. She didn't stop running until she was several blocks away. She rounded the corner and ducked into a convenience store, losing herself in the crowd.

Her phone buzzed. A text from Martin: "Don't go to the office. Call me as soon as you can."

She ignored it for now. She needed to get home first. She hailed a cab and gave the driver her address, clutching the folder in her bag like a treasure.

The cab ride home passed in tense silence. Ariana kept checking the side mirror to see if anyone followed them, but the streets remained clear. The driver didn't talk. Ariana stared out the window the entire ride, still clutching her bag. Her mind kept replaying Daniel's words, his grip, that quiet phone call. Who was he talking to? Why lie about the invoices? What if this went deeper than she thought?

When they reached her apartment building, she paid the driver in cash and hurried inside, taking the stairs two at a time.

She locked her apartment door behind her and immediately pulled the blinds shut. After dumping the folder on her small dining table, she slumped tiredly on one of the chairs spreading the documents out and examined them again. The red-marked invoices were all from a company called "Bracken Supplies"-a name she'd never heard her father mention. The amounts were large, but the descriptions were vague: "materials," "logistics," "consultation." Nothing specific.

Her phone buzzed. Martin again. This time she answered.

"Where are you?" His voice was tight.

"Home," she said. "I found something. Invoices that don't make sense."

"You went to the office?" Martin sounded frustrated. "I told you not to. It's not safe."

"Daniel was there," she said. "He tried to stop me from leaving."

"Daniel Collins? The company's operations manager?"

"Yes. He made one cryptic call before I took to my heels. His behavior was really strange."

Martin exhaled sharply. "Listen carefully. Don't go anywhere. Don't talk to anyone else. I'm coming over."

She hung up and returned to the documents. In the corner of one invoice, she noticed a smudged stamp-part of an address. She held it up to the light. The first few letters were clear: "BRACK..." followed by numbers that might be a street address.

Her laptop was on the coffee table. She opened it and searched for Bracken Supplies. Nothing came up. She tried adding the partial address, but still no results. The company either didn't exist or was carefully hidden.

A knock at the door made her jump. She closed the laptop.

"Martin?" she called.

"Yes. It's me."

She checked through the peephole before unlocking the door. Martin stood there in a rumpled suit, his briefcase in hand. He stepped inside and locked the door behind him.

"Show me what you found," he said.

She led him to the table. Martin scanned the documents, his frown deepening. After a minute, he pulled out his phone and took pictures of each page.

"This is bad," he muttered. "If these are fake invoices used to siphon money..."

"Then someone framed him," she finished.

Martin nodded. "But we need proof of who. And why."

Ariana pointed to the smudged stamp. "I tried tracing this. But I didn't find anything."

Martin studied it. "I know a guy who can trace shell companies. But it'll take time." He gathered the papers. "I'm taking these. You stay inside. If anyone contacts you -- especially Daniel-- you call me. Uunderstood?"

She nodded. As Martin left, she locked the door again and sat on the couch, staring at her silent phone.

Then it rang.

An unknown number.

She hesitated before answering. "Hello?"

A distorted voice spoke slowly. "Stop digging, Ariana. Or your father won't be the only one in jail."

The line went dead.

She set the phone down carefully. Outside, Martin's car engine started and faded into the distance.

Ariana sat frozen on the couch for several minutes, the lawyer's warning echoing in her mind. The evening light was fading through her small apartment window. She knew she should eat something, but the thought of food made her sick.

Her phone buzzed again. This time it was Kiara.

"I booked a train ticket. I'll be at your place soon."

Ariana's fingers flew across the screen. "No. Stay in your dorm. There's nothing you can do here."

The reply came instantly. "He's my dad too. I'm coming."