Going Somewhere?

✦✦Yve✦✦

I used to think the truth could set you free.

But now? I sell it to the highest bidder.

I lean casually into my seat inside a cafe. Around me, the street buzzes, cars honking, people treading the sidewalk. In the corner of my vision, I can make out the neon traffic lights. Across the street, a music store blares a random rapper’s diss track.

From here, I have the perfect view of Beaumont Corporation’s latest investment; a large warehouse still mid construction, but the roofed parts already house materials worth billions.

I take a sip of my matcha, but the cold liquid does little to soothe the bile burning in the back of my throat.

Four years ago, Beaumont Corporations fired me after pinning me for a crime I didn’t commit. I was made into a scapegoat, paraded like a fucking gold-digger, my name plastered on every news outlet that could possibly exist.

My career ended before it had even begun, my name blacklisted on every registered company in the US. So yeah, you’d have to be a fucking psychopath to go against a conglomerate like Beaumont corp.

But maybe that’s what I’ve become.

A notification splays across my phone screen and I tap on it.

A smile tugs at the corner of my lip.

It’s my bank statement—ten grand successfully received from an anonymous client.

My job?

Photo evidence of illegal materials stored in the Beaumont warehouse, plus whatever else I can find that can bring Beaumont to its knees.

Sure, I need the cash. But honestly? This is more personal than I’m willing to admit.

I toss my bill on the table and stand, hands buried deep in my pocket as I walk.

The sky bathes the streets of Chicago in gold and shadows.

Brown hair strands from my wig fall in my face. A large hoodie swallows my frame, paired with denim washed jeans and a knock off Nike sneaker.

I pull out my burner phone, pretending to doom scroll as I walk, like someone who’s biggest problem is finding a cafe with good wifi.

My pulse quickens as I inch closer to the warehouse. Apparently, the warehouse was Mortimer Beaumont’s grandson’s idea. Had to do a little background check on him as well. Every news outlet calls him the hottest bachelor of the year, the playboy of the century. Some even say he’s lazy, incompetent, and couldn’t run a company if you hit him in the head with a manual.

I like to take the things I see online with a grain of salt thanks to my own horrifying experience with the media, but one look at his photo and I knew.

He’s a playboy alright. No doubt about it. You can’t be that hot and rich at the same time with no bitches.

I pull up to the warehouse, heart pounding. I skip over cement blocks and stop by the entrance but it’s locked, no shit. A huge metal chain keeps the metal door shut, with a heavy duty padlock linking each end together.

I reach into my pocket and dig out my lock pick set. I squat low, pushing my wig out of my face. My heart pounds as I work on the lock. Even the slightest of breezes jolts my heart into a panicked frenzy. I’m sweating bullets, my hoodie glued to me like a second skin.

Seconds later, I hear the latch unlock. I release a breath through trembling lips and stand straight.

Now for the hard part.

I walk in, dig out my night vision goggles and scan what’s in front of me.

No security cameras in sight.

I take a few more steps in, my feet crunching on the gravel, but no state of the art security goes off, no sirens—nothing.

Well, now there’s no beating the incompetency allegations.

I continue on inside, barely seeing shit. I’m almost tempted to turn on a light switch but decide against it.

The passage is wide, endless, storage units on each side, some locked tight.

Up ahead, a steel door cuts through the middle. I start toward it, aware that if there’s actually something illegal they’re hiding, they’re not going to store it right at the front door.

In there, it’s much brighter, sunset filtering through pin sized windows. But something smells off. Like someone is passing a bottle of nail polish under my nose.

I open the storage units. Circuit boards, steel bars, laptops, machine parts, cardboard boxes…nothing that really screams illegal.

As I move forward, the smell gets stronger until I arrive at a door that’s unusually large. I work my lock pick, push the heavy doors open, and freeze almost instantly.

Lithium batteries are scattered across the tiled floor that stretch as far as the eye can see, with high ceilings that almost give me megalophobia. The smell of nail polish—which I now realize is coming from the badly stored overheating batteries—is strong enough to leave me choking for air.

I push through the smell, dig out my camera, and take pictures as I walk. I’ll probably asphyxiate before I can comb through the place, but I’m too far gone to care.

My eyes suddenly fall on a wooden desk, and I pull open the drawers to find receipts. My lips stretch into a proud grin as I engrave the evidence in pixels. My client will probably need to pay me another couple grands for how fucking juicy this is.

I mean, this isn’t enough to take down Beaumont, but they’ll definitely lose a couple billions in a lawsuit.

The growing taste of copper on my tongue is my signal to get out of here. I take out my camera’s memory card and plug it into my phone via an adapter. The cloud backup starts automatically, and I watch the progress bar crawl across my screen before chucking everything into my pocket.

As I make for the door, two hefty men suddenly barge into the room.

I’m frozen in place as I lock eyes with them, heart in my throat.

“Who the hell are you?” One of them asks, his voice like gravel.

My hands dig deeper into my pocket, clutching my phone like a lifeline. I prepared for this, so here goes nothing.

“What took you both so long?” I ask. I’m almost shocked by how calm my voice sounds.

They both freeze and stare between each other, confused.

“I’m the inspector.” I say, marching forward. “What the hell is with this room? It’s a mess.”

“Ohh. We weren’t done offloading yesterday, and Marcus forgot to turn on the air conditioning.” The one in brown overalls mutters.

Ohh my God. It’s actually working.

“What are you standing there for?” I glare at the men. “Get to work.”

Brown overalls sets off immediately, turning on the air conditioning, shelving batteries. But the one in blue overalls just stands there, watching me.

I walk past them both, almost at the door when he speaks.

“All the workers assigned here are men,” he mutters. “So why the hell would anyone assign a female inspector to us like we don’t know our jobs?”

In spite of my situation, his statement makes my eyes twitch and my blood boil.

I pull out my phone and hold it high, turning the screen away from them.

“Can you repeat that?” I glare at him from over my shoulder. “I’m sure Mr Beaumont would love to hear your take on his employee recruitment choices.”

Blue overalls freezes, color draining from his face.

I audibly curse under my breath for good measure and slam the door behind me. I walk towards the exit, fingers trembling, heart slamming in my throat as I try to walk fast, but not fast enough to arouse suspicion.

I’m almost at the dividing metal door when I hear voices from the other end.

I panic and run into a storage unit before I can think. Almost immediately, two men push open the door and walk in.

“Huh. I could’ve sworn I saw someone here a second ago.” A voice says, carrying a certain eloquence and class that would require the most polished educational background to pull off.

“Two workers went in ahead of us, Mr Beaumont.” Another voice chips in.

At the mention of that name, every cell in my body goes cold.

Shit.

It can’t possibly be THE Mr Beamount. That voice is too sharp, too young.

Which only leaves one possible conclusion—his grandson.

“The workers are taller. But I could barely see this person’s head over the glass.”

“Uhh…maybe you were just seeing things?”

A small silence follows, and I’m counting the seconds, praying he thinks nothing of it like the incompetent buffoon he’s rumored to be.

“You’re probably right. Let’s just get this over with. I have somewhere to be.”

I release a breath as my body trembles with relief.

I hear the door to a storage unit open and close, and their footsteps fade.

I stand immediately, pulse racing as I slowly creak the door open.