Chapter 2

The stairs are the weak point in my admittedly terrible plan. For starters, there are cameras abound in the stairwell. I avoided the cameras outside because I know those will be checked in case of vandalism or the like. Since I didn’t use my ID badge to enter and because the place is supposed to be locked and the main areas have motion detection security systems, there’s no reason for them to suspect that someone’s inside the building. That anyone would want to enter the building. They’ll only check the inside cameras if they have reason to believe someone got inside.

The other terrible part about this plan is the stairs themselves. The narrow staircase looms up at me like a spiraling spectre that disappears into the heavens themselves. The tower boasts eighty floors and we’re up on the forty-fourth.

Good thing I go to the gym.

Sometimes.

For about a week every January.

Oh boy.

* * *

By the twentieth floor, I’m cursing every choice I’ve ever made in my life. I curse every decision that took me one step closer to being a lawyer and away from being something like a professional couch tester.

By the thirtieth floor, I’m chanting a mantra to myself with every leaden step in the impossible hope of inspiring myself to persevere.

“You can do this, Hailey Cox. You are invincible,” I wheeze, decidedly un-invincible-like. Somehow, it keeps me going.

By the fortieth floor, I’ve found a spiritual awakening. There is a higher power and it has decided to take all my pain away, albeit by entirely removing my sense of self. For I am no longer climbing the stairs. No, I’m now watching myself climb the stairs. My sweat and rain-soaked ponytail has dulled from its near-platinum blond to a dirty beige. I’m sure most of my makeup has long since been sweated away, except for my red lip—my lipstick can withstand the end of the world.

Finally, I reach the forty-fourth floor. From the emergency stairway, I enter our cleaning closet that then opens into a small hallway and then our lunchroom. My first few steps are hesitant, but when the alarm doesn’t go off, I breathe a sigh of relief. At least, it would be a sigh of relief if I wasn’t still gasping for breath.

In any case, it looks like the last person here forgot to set the alarm.

That’s a joke. It was me. Obviously.

I’ve been the last person at the office with such unfailing frequency that I’m relatively certain everyone else has forgotten the alarm code.

I’ll just have to make sure I’m the first one in the office after the fumigation to ensure that no one else realizes it wasn’t set.

Another joke. I’m always the first person in the office.

Is it weird that a part of me wishes my office gave out attendance awards like they did in school? I would put that on my wall right next to my law degree.

Before I make my way to our file room, I take a second to look at my watch. It’s just after midnight. Since I’m clicking the button to make it light up, it knows I’m using it. A little message flashes on telling me that I have no steps today and that my heartrate is through the roof.

Judgemental watch.

Once I’ve caught my breath from my ‘zero’ steps today, I make my way through the office, snaking along the cubicles and offices. As I pass Beth’s desk, our office manager, her notepad catches my eye. At the top is written “Team Building Ideas”. Underneath is a jumble of thoughts, including things like office luau luncheon, escape (mail)room, mock trial for the refrigerator bandit, courtroom gingerbread contest, and just the word: shorts.

All of these sound terrible. I know I’m a little extreme in that I consider working through lunch to be the epitome of amusement, but really? Karaoke and coffee mornings? I didn’t study until my eyes bled so that I could go to work and—I glance at the list again—dress up like my favourite book character.

Reaching forward, I pluck the paper off the notepad, crumple it into a ball, and stuff it into my pocket. Not all heroes wear capes, indeed. You’re welcome, office.

When I get to the file room, my heart really starts to race. While breaking into the office and taping the lock open (mental note: make sure I take the tape off when I exit) would get me into a lot of trouble, this could get my firm into trouble.

If Dominic, my boss/mentor, knew I was doing this, he’d be so disappointed in me. I’d floated the idea by him of me taking the files home during the shut down and he nearly went purple at the mere mention of it. I had to listen to a tirade about how our case would be crushed if we took the files to a non-secure location and those got compromised, Zagreus Hart could crush our firm like a bug.

You know, Zagreus Hart, the billionaire. The man who values his privacy so much that no one even knows what he looks like. The man who wanted people out of his business so much that he built an entire island off the coast—which, no one talks about, but the rocky cliffs look incredibly similar to a skull. Also, the man who we’re trying to take to court for environmental pollution.

So, yeah, taking these files home is not a good idea.

Except, I can’t shake the feeling that if I don’t move quickly on this, if I don’t get to every witness and piece of evidence before he does, they’ll all just disappear.

Time is truly of the essence. It’ll slip through our fingers before I know it and then our case will be gone and Zagreus Hart and his company can keep doing god only knows what to the ocean surrounding his island.

I did not become a lawyer to participate in British accent Tuesdays (seriously, what the fuck, Beth?), nor did I become a lawyer to let people like Zagreus Hart get away.

And so, my fingers skip nimbly over the files until I find the slim one I’m looking for. At this point, there’s only a couple documents, a report from a DFO agent and some pictures from our PI, but by the time I’m back from my mandatory relaxation, it’ll be overflowing.

I seal it inside the plastic pouch inside my cross-body bag and then zip the latter closed. I know it’s overkill, but I’m not taking any chances with this file. It needs to be as safe and secure as my very limbs.

When I’m satisfied, I take a peek at my watch. 12:20—not too bad. I’ve wrapped up everything I need, plus done the office a service by nipping our bonding in the bud, in twenty minutes. Even if someone checks the cameras, there’ll only be a tiny window where—

The ground starts to shake.