Two Little Secrets From My Boss

Chapter 170

Maya’s POV

The small office adjacent to Daphne's is quiet at two in the afternoon. Everyone's in meetings or working from their own spaces. I have maybe thirty minutes before someone notices I'm not where I'm supposed to be.

I plug the encrypted drive into the server terminal, my fingers moving through commands I've memorized over six years of planning.

Personnel records from six years ago. Financial transfers that went through corporate accounts during Gerald's final months before arrest.

Correspondence between Xander and Gerald during the period when everything went wrong. When Lora died.

The progress bar appears, starts crawling across the screen with agonizing slowness. Eight percent. Twelve percent. Eighteen percent.

I force myself to breathe normally, to look casual if anyone happens to glance through the glass door. Just Maya working late, catching up on filing, nothing unusual.

Twenty-six percent. Thirty-three percent.

My fingers drum against the desk—a nervous habit I can't control when I'm waiting. The sound is too loud in the quiet office. I force my hands still, press them flat against the wood.

Forty-two percent.

Come on, come on.

Fifty-one percent.

Footsteps in the hallway. Distant at first, then closer. Getting closer.

My spine goes rigid. The footsteps aren't rushed—just someone walking with purpose, heading in this direction. Could be anyone. Could be nothing.

Could be everything.

Sixty-two percent.

The footsteps are right outside now.

My hand flies to the mouse, clicks frantically through windows. Minimize the download, pull up the spreadsheet I'm supposed to be working on, close the file explorer.

Make everything look normal, professional, exactly what should be on this screen.

Sixty-eight percent.

The drive is still transferring behind the minimized window. I can't pull it out or the files corrupt.

Can't stop the download without leaving traces in the system logs. Can't do anything except sit here and pray whoever's in the hallway keeps walking.

The footsteps stop outside the door.

Seventy-three percent.

My heart hammers so hard I'm certain whoever's about to walk in will hear it. Will see the guilt written across my face. Will notice the encrypted drive plugged into the port, small and black and damning.

The door opens.

Xander appears. He's distracted, phone in one hand, scrolling through something with his thumb. Doesn't look at me immediately—just stands in the doorway like he's finishing reading a message.

Eighty-one percent.

I keep my face smooth, professional, like my heart isn't trying to explode out of my chest. Like I'm not committing corporate espionage while his back is turned.

"Maya." He glances up finally, pockets his phone. "Have you seen the Riverside contracts? The originals, not the digital copies. I have a board meeting tomorrow and I need to verify the signatures."

My mouth is dry. I force words past the panic lodged in my throat. "The physical files?"

"Yeah. Should be in here somewhere. Daphne mentioned you were organizing the archives last week."

Ninety-four percent.

The progress bar crawls behind my minimized window, hidden from his view but burning in my peripheral vision like a countdown to disaster.

I stand, move to the filing cabinet against the wall with movements that feel too stiff, too controlled. My legs work on autopilot while my brain screams at the screen to finish, finish, finish.

The Riverside contracts, I filed them three days ago. I know exactly where they are because I'm meticulous about this job—have to be, have to maintain the perfect assistant persona even while stealing everything I can get my hands on.

I pull the drawer. Flip through tabs with fingers that want to shake. Find the folder. Pull it out and turn back to Xander with a smile that feels like it might crack my face.

"Here." I hand him the contracts. "Physical originals, signatures on pages four, seven, and twelve."

Xander takes them with a grateful nod. "You're a lifesaver. I swear, you're the only person in this entire organization who actually knows where anything is."

One hundred percent.

The download completes behind him. I see the notification flash in my peripheral vision—hidden from his view by the angle, but there, present, evidence that would end everything if he turned around.

"Just doing my job." The words come out steady, normal. Like my heart isn't trying to claw its way out of my throat.

"Well, you do it better than anyone else we've had." He's already turning toward the door, attention back on his phone. "Thanks again."

"Anytime."

He leaves, the door closes with a soft click.

I wait five seconds until they become ten. Listening for his footsteps to recede down the hallway.

Listening for any indication he might come back, might have forgotten something, might open that door again and catch me ejecting a drive I have no legitimate reason to be using.

The hallway stays silent.

I sag against the desk, hand pressed to my chest like I can physically slow my hammering heart.

My legs feel weak, my hands shake when I reach for the mouse, properly close the windows, verify nothing looks suspicious in the system logs.

The download is complete. Personnel files, financial records, correspondence—everything I've been searching for, everything I need to understand what really happened six years ago.

I eject the drive with trembling fingers. The device pops out with a soft click that sounds deafening in the quiet office. I slip it into my pocket, feel the weight of it against my thigh like a bomb waiting to detonate.

That was too close.

Years of careful planning almost unraveled because Xander needed a document five minutes early. Because I got greedy, tried to download too much at once, took risks I should have known better than to take.

The anonymous email burns in my memory. ‘I know who you are. I know why you're there.’

Someone knows. Someone has been watching me the same way I've been watching this family. Someone has pieced together what I've hidden so carefully for six years.

And every day I stay here increases the risk of exposure before I have everything I need.

Before I have the complete picture of what happened to Lora. Before I have proof that will make these years of lying and loss mean something.

I look at the closed door. Think about Archie and the way he looked at me this morning. Think about Daphne trusting me with her children.

Think about the family I've infiltrated under false pretenses, the people I've been systematically betraying while pretending to care about them.

I make a decision—I need to accelerate my timeline, push harder. Take bigger risks, get what I came for before my cover disintegrates completely and takes me down with it.

Even if it means the walls are closing in faster than I can move. Even if someone else knows my secret and might expose me before I'm ready. Even if destroying the last shreds of whatever humanity I have left.

I have to finish this for Lora before it's too late.

The drive sits heavy in my pocket—a reminder of how close I came to losing everything today.

A reminder that next time, I might not be so lucky.