Chapter 199
[ 498 words ]
Chapter 199:
Her palms were sweating profusely. Her heart hammered against her ribs. She reached the heavy oak doors, wrapped her trembling fingers around the cold brass handle, and twisted.
A soft click echoed in the silence. The door was unlocked.
A massive wave of adrenaline and triumph hit Harper’s chest. She pushed the door open and slipped inside.
The study was pitch black. The only light came from the pale moonlight filtering through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows.
Harper didn’t dare touch the wall switch. She pulled her phone from her pocket and turned the screen brightness to its lowest setting.
She used the faint, bluish glow to navigate around the leather couches and reached the General’s desk.
Her eyes immediately locked onto the black Spectre Advisory folder sitting perfectly in the center of the wood.
Harper’s breath hitched. She reached out, her manicured fingers grabbing the thick edge of the folder.
I have you now, you pathetic bitch, Harper thought, her lips curling into a vicious smile. She prepared to unwind the string closure to photograph the pages.
ո𝗼𝘷𝘦𝗅s 𝘪n 𝘁ren𝖽 𝘰n 𝗴alոо𝗏𝖾𝗅𝘀.𝗰𝗈m
Suddenly, the massive crystal chandelier hanging from the center of the ceiling exploded with blinding, brilliant light.
The sudden illumination was a physical assault on Harper’s dilated pupils. She let out a sharp scream of pure terror and dropped the folder. It hit the desk with a loud slap.
Harper threw her hands over her face, stumbling backward.
Through her fingers, she saw a figure standing perfectly still by the light switch near the door.
It was Carson Finch. He was fully dressed in his immaculate three-piece suit. His face was carved from stone. His eyes looked at Harper with the cold, detached disgust of a man looking at a dead rat.
“Miss Harper,” Finch said. His voice was quiet, but it carried a terrifying, crushing weight. “The General’s desk is not a place for your hands.”
All the blood instantly drained from Harper’s face. Her knees buckled. She grabbed the edge of the desk to stop herself from collapsing onto the floor.
“Finch, wait,” Harper stammered, her voice shaking violently. “I was just looking for a pen. I swear, I didn’t—”
Finch didn’t listen to a single word. He reached up to the lapel of his suit jacket and pressed the emergency call button on his security radio.
Three minutes after Finch pressed the button, the entire second floor of the Romero estate lit up. The dead silence of the mansion was instantly replaced by a suffocating, heavy tension.
Cornelia Romero practically ran down the hallway. She had thrown an expensive cashmere shawl over her silk pajamas. Her face was pale, her eyes wide with genuine panic.
She burst through the open doors of the study.
She saw Harper cowering against the desk, trembling violently. She saw Finch standing by the door, his posture rigid and unforgiving.
Cornelia’s stomach dropped into a bottomless pit.
Harper saw her mother. A sob ripped from her throat. She lunged forward, reaching out to grab Cornelia’s arm for protection. “Mom, please, tell him I didn’t do anything!”
Cornelia’s reaction was instantaneous and brutal.
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