Page 85 of No Longer Mine

The elevator climbed, too slow and too fast all at once. This high up, if something went sideways, I wouldn’t have many options. I could jump the balcony—if I made it, I’d be fine. If I missed? Suicide.

Oliver’s voice cut through my thoughts. “Hallway’s on a loop. You’re clear to move.”

The doors slid open. Heart hammering, I kept my head down and moved fast, reaching the utility closet just as the hallway cameras reset.

I yanked the door. Stuck. Shit.

I wrenched it harder, and it gave, nearly sending me flying inside. I shut it fast behind me, clicking on a flashlight.

Vacuums. A towel cart. Mountains of toilet paper. All shoved up against the back wall.

I stuffed the flashlight between my teeth and started moving things, hands sweeping over the wall, searching. The blueprints had shown a door here. There had to be a door here.

My patting against the wall grew frantic, each pass more erratic as panic clawed up my throat. This couldn’t be it. I hadn’t come this far just to be stopped by a goddamn wall.

I pressed harder, searching for anything—a seam, a hinge, a whisper of a gap. My glove snagged.

I froze.

Heart hammering, I repositioned the flashlight, angling the beam upward. There.

In the top corner, a small latch, nearly swallowed by layers of old paint. But the paint was chipping. Freshly disturbed.

Someone had used this door recently. All the warning bells went off inside my head, but I didn’t have any other option.

I swallowed hard, pulse thundering, and reached for the latch. I expected a squeak, maybe a groan of protest—nothing. The mechanism moved smoothly, too smoothly. Someone used this door often.

A narrow, dim corridor stretched before me, the air thick with dust and the faint scent of neglect. Cobwebs clung to the walls, but the floor? Spotless. No footprints, no grime. Whoever passed through here cleaned up after themselves. I went over the blueprints in my mind. The Cristof’s home was to the left. There would be another door to the left, which it would lead to Mrs. Cristof’s closet, if I was correct.

I looked back at the door. If I closed it, would I be trapped in here? Did it really matter? It would be weird if I didn’t use the front door if I were caught or saw someone. On the maid’scart was a duster. I grabbed the pink thing and tucked it into the waistband of my skirt before I closed the door behind me.

The door was easy enough to find.

I pressed my ear against the door, straining for any sound on the other side. Nothing. Just the steady hum of the building. I exhaled and tested the handle. It didn’t budge.

Locked.

I reached into the pocket of my apron and pulled out a slim metal pick. I worked fast, my fingers steady despite the adrenaline surging through me. The lock was old, not cheap, but not impenetrable. A couple of careful turns, a soft click, and the door eased open an inch, though it required some work because it was heavy.

The scent of old leather books and cologne met my nose. I stepped inside, and my jaw almost hit the floor. I couldn’t have been more wrong. The door led to Sinclair’s office, not his wife’s closet, and connected to the secret door was a bookcase.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Scarlett

There wereseveral built-in safes throughout the building—one concealed behind the full-length mirror in the bathroom, another hidden somewhere in here. But I wasn’t interested in cash or jewelry.

I needed flash drives.

I needed evidence—something solid, something damning. Something that would bury Sinclair so deep he’d never crawl his way back out.

The drive I’d taken from Gavin’s apartment had enough to ruin him, I was sure of it. But was I ready to give it up? I wasn’t so sure. I didn’t know if I was ready for what that would entail. Yes, I wanted to take him down, but men like him, did they really get in trouble? Would he really spend the rest of his life in misery? Would he actually get a just punishment?

No, the chances were that he would still spend the rest of his life in luxury. Others would pay for his crimes and he would continue to hurt people. I couldn’t let that happen, but what could I do?

It seemed like Dimitri was hell bent on bringing him down based on everything he was doing in the city council, but was that even enough?

Relying on the government to do the right thing felt like a fool’s game. The system failed too many people.