The rain lashed against the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse, blurring the city lights of Manhattan. I stood in the center of the room, my hands trembling as I held the stolen flash drive.

“I know you’re there,” I whispered into the shadows.

A low, dark chuckle came from the corner of the room. Julian Vane stepped into the light. He was dressed in a black suit, his tie loosened, and his eyes cold and predatory.

He didn’t look like a CEO; he looked like a shark that had finally caught its prey.

“You’re a very bad thief, Clara,” he said, his voice a smooth, dangerous silk. “Did you really...