Chapter 4My Enemy Built My Alibi

I looked at Cameron, my expression eerily calm as I pointed out the glaring flaw in his lie.

"The lock on the lounge door has been broken since last week. Maintenance hasn't fixed it yet."

"So how, exactly, did I lock it?"

Cameron’s face twitched. He immediately broke eye contact, looking nervously at the floor.

Paige lunged forward to fill the silence, her tears flowing right on cue. "He was too far away to see properly! The door was just pulled shut!"

"I tried to run, but Miles grabbed my ankle..."

She reached down and pulled up the hem of her tailored trousers, revealing a ring of red bruises around her pale ankle.

It was definitely a handprint. Someone had gripped her hard.

Bravo. Excellent production value.

I gave a small, defeated nod, abandoning the detail of the door. Instead, I pointed a trembling finger at my computer tower.

"My trading terminal has comprehensive operational logs. Every keystroke, every mouse click. It will prove unequivocally that I didn't step away from this seat for a single second all afternoon!"

It looked like I was playing my final trump card.

In reality, it was bait.

You want to prove I wasn't at my desk, Bradley? I thought. Come on. Take the bait. Destroy the irrefutable evidence of my fat-finger error with your own two hands.

Bradley looked at me like I had just told him a hilarious joke. "Logs? Miles, do you think we're idiots?"

Cameron, sensing the shift in momentum, immediately chimed in. "So what if there are keystrokes? With your status in this firm, you could have easily ordered a junior analyst to sit at your desk and click around for thirty minutes. Who would dare say no to you?"

Paige nodded furiously. "Exactly! You were just threatening me with your power. Using your authority to force someone to build an alibi for you while you cornered me... that's exactly the kind of manipulative thing you'd do!"

I roared, thrashing wildly like a man who had lost his mind.

"I didn't order anyone to cover for me!"

"Check it! I demand a forensic fingerprint analysis on that keyboard! My prints are the only ones on those keys!"

I knew the psychology of a bully. The angrier I looked, the more I struggled, the more Bradley would believe he had struck my Achilles heel.

Right on cue, a smug, vicious smile spread across Bradley's face. He picked up the heavy Yeti tumbler full of ice water sitting on my desk.

He tipped it over the mechanical keyboard.

Water flooded the keys, seeping deep into the circuitry, soaking the mouse, and cascading onto the hard drive tower beneath the desk until the screens flickered and died.

"No need to go through all that trouble, Miles," Bradley purred.

"Now... tell me. Where are these precious logs and fingerprints of yours?"