Chapter 1
Agh. Agh. Aghh
Fist connected with Flesh
’This one went harder than expected″, she muttered wiping her knuckles clean.
She glanced at her watch 03.17AM.
Right on time
She crounched beside the body no fear no remorse just another routine.
Tilting her head slightly,she looked down ″I am sorry for ruining your face , but i had to You owe me a bigger one″, she whispered with a smirk
She walked out of his bedroom and headed straight to the office.
“So… where have you hidden the files?” she murmured under her breath, scanning the room.
Frustrated, she yanked open drawers, flipped books, searched every inch.
“Ugh, it has to be here somewhere.”
A second later click.
“There. Found it.”
A smug grin crept across her face as she inserted a flash drive and copied the documents.
Once done, she shut everything down, slipped the drive into her jacket pocket, and walked out of the penthouse cold, quiet, and calculated.
She disappeared into the night, back to her apartment.
Scene shift: Back at the Apartment
The door clicked shut behind her.
She tossed her keys on the table and collapsed onto the sofa.
“Ahh… it was a long day.”
She stood up, pulled off her clothes, and washed the blood from her hands.
In the bathroom mirror, she stared at her reflection — motionless, detached.
She traced the edge of her jaw with wet fingers, her eyes hollow.
“Never thought life would bring me here,” she whispered to herself.
With a sigh, she turned off the bathroom lights and walked into the living room.
She opened her laptop, inserted the flash drive, and began scanning the files.
“I need to find some proof… something to bring that asshole down.”
Her fingers flew across the keyboard as she searched through folders, encryptions, and data dumps. The room was dim, lit only by the laptop screen and the silent weight of her obsession.
Scene Shift — Meanwhile, at the Penthouse
Flashlights roamed the bloodstained floor of the penthouse.
Officers moved carefully, snapping photos of the body sprawled on the carpet.
“Anything?” a senior officer asked, his tone clipped.
“No sir,” another replied. “No fingerprints. No sign of forced entry. Nothing.”
The team exchanged glances whoever did this was a professional.
“Keep digging,” the officer muttered. “No one walks away this clean.”
Scene: The Crime Scene
INT. PENTHOUSE – EARLY MORNING – DIMLY LIT
The room is cold. Silent.
Jonathan’s lifeless body lies near the bar counter. Blood dried along the floor. Flashlights sweep the shadows. Officers whisper, uneasy.
Officer 1 (shaking head):
“No forced entry. No prints. Just… gone.”
The door creaks open.
Boots echo softly against marble.
A tall figure enters—broad shoulders, sharp jawline, emerald green eyes that look like they’ve seen too much.
His black overcoat shifts as he moves military-straight posture, smooth control, like someone used to walking into rooms no one wants to be in.
He flips a badge without slowing down.
Alex (calm, controlled):
“Agent Jack Reid. FBI. This case is now under federal jurisdiction.”
Officer 2 (frowning):
“We weren’t told—”
Alex (cutting in):
“You’ve been told now.”
A pause. The air tightens.
Officer 1 (quietly):
“It’s yours, Agent.”
The others back away, tension lingering as they exit.
The door clicks shut.
Silence.
Alex stands still for a second, scanning the room — not just with the eyes of an agent, but like a man chasing a shadow that’s always one step ahead.
He moves toward the body, his jaw tense.
Kneels.
He doesn’t flinch. No trace of sympathy. Only calculation.
But behind the eyes—grief is buried, rage is breathing, guilt is familiar.
Alex (quietly):
“So… this is how far it went, Jonathan?”
FLASHBACK – INT. CORPORATE HALLWAY – NIGHT
Alex walks down the long corridor of his father’s office building. Dread in his eyes every step toward his father feels like walking into hell.
Suddenly, raised voices echo from behind a thick wooden door. Alex pauses.
Jonathan (angrily, from inside):
“You promised me my share! I won’t be silent anymore!”
Mr. Crawford (calm, threatening):
“You’ll get nothing. You were never supposed to exist.”
Jonathan (shouting):
“If you don’t give me what’s mine I’ll go to the press. The police. I’ll tell them everything you’ve done!”
Alex stiffens. Eyes wide.
Everything he’s done?
Just then, the door bursts open. Jonathan storms out, slamming it shut behind him. He doesn’t notice Alex standing in the shadows.
FLASHBACK ENDS
Back in the penthouse, Alex stands slowly.
Expression hardened. Gloved hands begin scanning the room, opening drawers, checking behind books, under furniture—nothing.
He slams his hand against the table, furious.
Alex (growling):
“Where the hell did you hide it, Jonathan?”
He walks back to the body, grabs Jonathan’s shirt collar in frustration.
Alex:
“You were smarter than this. You had to leave something behind.”
Then he spots it. A pendant glinting near Jonathan’s side, half-hidden under a broken lamp.
He picks it up carefully, analyzing. Not valuable sentimental. But not the evidence he needed.
Something clicks in his mind.
His eyes narrow.
Alex (slowly):
“This wasn’t just about you and him...”
He straightens, looking around again. Realization dawns.
Alex (low, stunned):
“Someone else was here. Before me. They took the documents… and silenced you.”
A pause. Silence grips the room.
Alex (to himself):
“No one else knew about that conversation… unless… they were listening too.”
He stands in still confusion. Mind racing.
He slipped the locket into his coat pocket, unaware that it didn’t just belong to the past…
It belonged to someone still out there watching, waiting, and far from done. Without another word he turned and walked away leaving behind more than just a crime scene he was walking straight into a story far darker than he imagined.
