The meeting continued, but my mind was elsewhere. I tried to focus on the discussion around quarterly projections, nodding at the appropriate moments, but my thoughts kept drifting back to the folder. Once the room cleared, I sat back down, flipping through the pages again. Names, dates, transactions—everything meticulously recorded. It was a paper trail leading to someone powerful, someone protected. My phone buzzed, breaking the silence. It was a message from a blocked number: “Stay quiet.” The words sent a chill down my spine. I glanced around, feeling suddenly exposed in the glass-walled room.
I decided to take a walk, hoping the fresh air would clear my head. As I stepped outside, the city moved around me, unaware of the storm brewing beneath the surface. I found a bench and sat down, pulling out my phone to call a trusted colleague, someone I knew could offer guidance without drawing attention. “Hey, it’s me,” I said when they answered. “I need your advice on something sensitive.”
We agreed to meet later that evening at a discreet location, where we could talk freely. Until then, I had to keep my composure, act as if nothing was amiss. But as the day wore on, the weight of the file gnawed at me. I wondered who else knew, who else was involved, and how far the implications stretched.
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