Deadly paper trail

Buzz...

A shrill vibration cut through the tense air. One of the security guards fumbled with his phone, his fingers clammy, his heart pounding like a war drum. He pressed the answer button.

A soft click followed, and then—silence.

Then came the voice.

"Hello, sir..." the guard muttered, his throat dry, his voice trembling.

"Was the intel correct?" The voice on the other end was deep, guttural, ancient in a way that spoke of years drenched in blood and violence.

The guard swallowed hard. "Y-Yes, sir... The miss is dead."

A long pause. Then, the voice sharpened like a blade.

"WHAT?! Tell me the killer's body is lying beside hers."

The guard flinched. He could almost feel the heat of the man's fury creeping through the phone.

"No, sir... the killer jumped through the window and escaped. But... we found something that could lead us to him."

Silence. A silence so thick it felt suffocating.

Then, the voice returned, low and dangerous. "What did you find?"

The guard hesitated, his fingers gripping the card like it might burst into flames. "A card, sir. It says 'Carson Store – Alex Lane, Inventory Specialist.'"

Another long pause. Then, the voice dropped into a whisper, colder than death.

"Find him... and kill him. Then bring his heart to me."

The call cut.

The room felt colder now.

Somewhere in the city...

The office was dim, the air thick with the scent of old leather and smoke. A mahogany desk sat at the center, papers scattered across its surface. A tattered animal skin rug lay beneath it, its faded eyes staring into nothing.

The man behind the desk exhaled slowly, then hung up the phone. Rising from his chair, he walked to the window, hands clasped behind his back, eyes fixed on the city below.

"Drake," he called.

From the shadows, a figure emerged as if pulled from the darkness itself.

"Yes, master," the man said, bowing his head.

Without turning, the old man spoke, his voice like gravel.

"The guards—kill them when they eventually find Alex. Then put the bastard underground."

"Yes, sir."

Drake melted back into the shadows, vanishing as if he had never been there.

Later that night...

Alex slammed the door shut behind him, his chest rising and falling in uneven gasps. His hands trembled as he locked it, double-checking, triple-checking. He pressed his back against the wood, eyes darting around his dimly lit apartment like the walls might close in on him.

'How the fuck did I get into this?' His mind spiraled as he ran his fingers through his hair, every thought colliding into the next.

'The girl... She was alive with Kevin an hour ago. So why was she dead now? And where the hell was Kevin?.'

'Did he frame me? Was this a setup?'

'Was Marco in on it? Had he planned this from the start?,'

'But then—why would Kevin kill someone who looked like his girlfriend?'

'None of it made sense. The pieces didn't fit.'

The realization hit hard—he had crossed the wrong people. And now, he was screwed.

His pulse pounded in his ears. They'd come for him. It was only a matter of time.

Then, a thought pushed through the panic.

'Did they actually see my face?.'

He replayed the scene in his head—the chaos, the shadows, the rushed escape. No one had gotten a good look at him. His heart still raced, but the panic dulled just slightly. If they didn't know who he was, he wasn't completely screwed.

Not yet.

He ran a hand down his face, forcing himself to think. He couldn't keep doing this. Running drops, dealing anymore, chasing fast cash that came with a death sentence.

He clenched his jaw.

'No—I'm walking away now.'

"I hope Mr. Carson will have me back if I begged," Alex said, finally deciding.

He'd go back to Carson's store, back to normal life, back to the plan he should've stuck to from the start. No more deliveries, no more quick money, no more looking over his shoulder every second of the day.

Laying low wouldn't be easy. They'd still be looking for him. But if he played this right, he could disappear before they ever found out who he really was.

This was his chance.

And this time, he wasn't screwing it up.

Later that day...

The bell above Carson's store jangled, cutting through the quiet afternoon lull. Two men entered—neither browsing nor smiling. The taller one wore an expensive suit that couldn't quite disguise his athletic build. The shorter one positioned himself near the door, eyes scanning the store methodically.

Carson looked up from his ledger. "Can I help you gentlemen?"

"I certainly hope so." The tall one approached, confidence in every step. "Name's Mercer. This is Reeves. We're with Lydia Lannister Security."

Carson's expression remained neutral. "What brings Lydia Security to my humble shop?"

Mercer placed a plastic evidence bag on the counter. Inside was a business card. "'Carson Store – Alex Lane, Inventory Specialist,'" he read aloud.

Carson glanced at the card, then back at Mercer. "Yeah, Alex worked here. Left some months back. Quit without notice."

"That so?" Mercer's tone sharpened.

"We found this at Ms. Lydia Lannister's room last night. She was killed, and the suspect, Alex, fled before we could catch him."

"Unfortunate situation," Mr. Carson said.

Carson's stomach tightened. 'What have you gotten yourself into, Alex?'

"I'm sorry to hear that, but I don't see what it has to do with my store."

"Ms. Lannister was found dead, Mr. Carson. And your former employee's card was at the scene."

Carson's face remained impassive, but his mind raced. Alex involved with Lydia Lannister? The Lydia Lannister? This was bad.

"That's concerning, but Alex hasn't worked here in months. I can't speak to where he might have dropped his card."

Reeves began moving through the store, examining shelves, peering behind displays.

"You mind telling us where we can find him?" Mercer asked.

"I don't keep tabs on ex-employees."

"Ms. Lannister had very powerful friends, Mr. Carson. People who expect answers." Mercer's voice lowered. "The kind of people who can make life very difficult for a small business owner."

"Is that a threat?"

"It's reality. Ms. Lannister's associates sit on every board and commission in this city. Health inspections. Licensing. Zoning. One word from them, and places like this become very complicated to operate."

A crash from the back of the store made Carson jump. Reeves had accidentally knocked over a display of glass bottles.

"Careful there," Mercer called to his partner, before turning back to Carson. "We're not here to make trouble. We just need to have a conversation with Alex."

Carson watched as Reeves continued his deliberate inspection of the store. Twenty years of building this business. His daughter's education. His retirement. All hanging by a thread.

'I'm sorry, Alex.'

"His full name is Alexander Lane," Carson finally said.

"Last I knew, he was living in the Fulton Street Apartments. Unit 22B. But that was months ago. He could be anywhere now."

Mercer smiled thinly. "Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Carson."

As they turned to leave, Mercer paused. "Sorry for the mess."

The bell jangled again, and they were gone.

Carson slumped against the counter, hands trembling slightly. What had Alex done? Who had he crossed? Whatever it was, Carson needed to warn him. Those weren't the kind of men who asked questions twice.

He picked up his phone to dial Alex's number, but his line wasn't going through. Then he texted him: "Watch out. They're coming for you."

Thirty minutes later, the bell jangled again. Carson looked up, his face paling as Alex walked through the door.

"Oh, Alex!" Carson exclaimed, rushing around the counter. "What are you still doing here? Didn't you see my message for you to run?"

Alex looked confused, pulling out his phone. "I just got here. I haven't checked my phone."

Mr. Carson grabbed his shoulders. "You need to leave. Now. Lydia Lannister's security team was just here. They know you were at the scene when she was killed. I had to give them your address."

Alex's face drained of color. His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again.

"Oh no!" he whispered, his voice barely audible. "My sister is at home sleeping!"