Chapter 2 - THE FLASH DRIVE ON MY BED
I refused to go home alone.
That sentence would have embarrassed me two days earlier.
Now, I didn’t care.
Julian’s security team entered my apartment first.
No broken lock.
No damaged windows.
No obvious sign of forced entry.
My building had controlled elevators, private cameras, twenty-four-hour staff, and enough surveillance to make most people feel protected.
Apparently protection only worked against strangers.
The flash drive sat in the exact center of my white duvet.
Beside it was a note.
YOU SHOULD HAVE MARRIED MATEO.
No signature.
I stared at the handwriting.
Julian stood behind me.
“Recognize it?”
“No.”
“Don’t touch anything.”
“I know.”
He photographed the room while one of his security men called a private forensic technician.
I turned.
“You came prepared.”
“I’ve spent half my life being prepared.”
“That sounds exhausting.”
“It is.”
The flash drive was placed inside an evidence bag.
I watched every movement.
Then Julian asked my building manager for entry logs.
One electronic credential had accessed my floor at 1:14 p.m.
Guest authorization:
TERESA ARRIAGA.
My mother.
I stopped breathing.
“That has to be wrong.”
The building manager looked uncomfortable.
“Ms. Arriaga has had permanent family access for three years.”
I had approved it myself.
Of course I had.
“She was here today?”
“The system says her credential was used.”
“Camera?”
The manager hesitated.
“The corridor camera lost signal between 1:08 and 1:31.”
Julian gave him a look that could have frozen glass.
“Convenient.”
I called my mother.
She answered immediately.
“Daniela, please tell me you’re coming to dinner tonight. Your father is furious.”
“Were you in my apartment today?”
Silence.
“Why?”
“Answer me.”
“No.”
“You have permanent access.”
“I haven’t used it in months.”
“Your credential was used at one fourteen.”
Another silence.
Then:
“You need to stop listening to Julian Sterling.”
My blood went cold.
I had not told her where I was.
“I never said I was with Julian.”
My mother said nothing.
“Mom?”
“Come home.”
“Did you leave something in my bedroom?”
“No.”
“Did you know about the flash drive from twelve years ago?”
Her breathing changed.
That was enough.
“Mom.”
“Daniela, there are things your father and I protected you from because you were a child.”
“I’m thirty.”
“And you’re behaving like one now.”
The familiar insult almost worked.
Almost.
Then I remembered Julian’s photograph.
“You took that drive from me.”
Silence.
“You were at the loading dock.”
“Come home.”
“Why did Vance Group transfer eighteen million dollars to Dad’s company six weeks later?”
The call went dead.
I stared at the screen.
Julian said nothing.
I hated that.
“Say it.”
“What?”
“You were right.”
“I don’t need you to say that.”
“Well, I do.”
He looked at me.
“Fine. I was right about your mother knowing.”
“That’s not comforting.”
“It wasn’t intended to be.”
The forensic technician duplicated the flash drive without opening the original.
Encrypted.
Old encryption.
But not impossible.
While he worked, Julian’s phone buzzed.
He checked it.
“Mateo just announced that your engagement is still active.”
“What?”
Julian showed me a social media statement from Vance Group.
Due to private emotional circumstances, Daniela Arriaga and Mateo Vance are taking several days away from public appearances. Both families remain committed to the upcoming wedding.
I almost laughed.
“They’re pretending nothing happened.”
“Your mother’s strategy.”
“How do you know?”
“Because it’s exactly what she did twelve years ago.”
I looked at him.
“With your attack?”
“Yes.”
The technician finally spoke.
“I’m in.”
My heartbeat accelerated.
The drive contained seven folders.
CITY CONTRACTS.
PAYMENTS.
VANCE.
ARRIAGA.
STERLING.
PHOTOS.
INSURANCE.
My family name felt like a threat.
Julian opened ARRIGA first.
Inside were scanned invoices between my father’s company and shell contractors.
One contractor had received $4.2 million for demolition work.
The address listed for the company was a vacant warehouse.
Another received $3.8 million for environmental consulting.
No employees.
No website.
No state licenses.
Then we opened PAYMENTS.
A spreadsheet tracked transfers.
Vance to Arriaga.
Arriaga to shell companies.
Shell companies to political consultants.
Julian’s face tightened.
“This is bid laundering.”
“What does that mean?”
“Vance won public contracts. Your father’s company moved funds through subcontractors. Money likely returned as influence payments.”
I sat down.
“No.”
“Daniela—”
“No. My father isn’t stupid.”
“I didn’t say he was.”
“That’s worse.”
Then I saw a name.
TERESA ARRIAGA.
Authorized transfer.
My mother again.
I whispered:
“She knew.”
“Yes.”
Another file contained an audio recording.
Julian clicked play.
My father’s voice.
Twelve years younger.
“If Sterling goes public, every contract dies.”
Another man answered.
Mateo’s father.
“Then make sure he doesn’t go public.”
My father:
“I don’t do violence.”
Mateo’s father laughed.
“Then don’t ask questions about how problems disappear.”
The recording ended.
I felt physically sick.
Julian stared at the screen.
“This is the evidence they attacked me over.”
“You were going to expose them.”
“Yes.”
“And my mother stole it.”
“Apparently.”
“But why return it now?”
That was the question.
Whoever entered my apartment could have destroyed the drive.
Instead, they gave it back.
Warning me away from Mateo.
Or warning me toward something else.
Then one last file caught my attention.
PHOTOS.
We opened it.
Photographs from the engagement gala.
Not the recent gala.
An older event.
Twelve years ago.
Julian.
My father.
Mateo’s father.
My mother.
And a teenage Mateo.
I zoomed in.
Mateo was standing behind the service entrance.
Wearing the same black jacket I remembered on one of the men running away after Julian was attacked.
I stopped breathing.
Julian leaned closer.
“He was there.”
“No.”
“He was seventeen.”
“So?”
“He couldn’t have—”
Then I remembered Mateo once telling me he spent his final year of high school in Europe.
He had lied.
My phone rang.
Mateo.
I stared at his name.
Julian said:
“Don’t answer.”
I answered.
“Daniela.”
Mateo sounded calm.
Too calm.
“You found the drive.”
Every hair on my arms rose.
“How do you know?”
Silence.
May you like
Then he whispered:
“Because I’m the one who put it on your bed.”
