My Dad is the CEO who wants me Dead

Murdered

Liam's feet hit the stairwell door so hard it slammed against the wall.

He didn't take the elevator. Too obvious. Too many cameras. He'd spent five years memorizing every blind spot in this building, every corner where the security didn't reach. Tonight, that knowledge was the only thing keeping him alive.

His sneakers squeaked against the concrete stairs as he flew down, skipping three steps at a time. His heart was pounding so loud he could barely hear anything else. The USB drive felt like a burning coal in his pocket.

Twenty-second floor. Twenty-first. Twentieth.

He had to get to the basement. There was a service exit there, one that led to the alley behind the building. No cameras. No security guards. Just a door that didn't lock properly and a garbage bin he could hide behind until he was safe.

Nineteenth floor. Eighteenth.

Liam's lungs were burning. He wasn't in shape for this. Five years of pushing a mop had turned his muscles soft, replaced the sharp reflexes he used to have with a body that just wanted to survive.

But survival was exactly what this was about.

He burst through the basement door and almost collapsed. The concrete floor was cold and damp, smelling like mold and old trash. He could hear the elevator moving somewhere above him, the soft whir of cables pulling weight upward.

They were still looking for him. They just didn't know it yet.

Liam ran through the narrow hallway, past the boiler room, past the storage closet filled with old office furniture. The emergency exit was right there, the red sign glowing above it like a promise.

He pushed the bar.

Nothing happened.

"What —" Liam pushed again, harder this time. The door didn't budge.

Locked. They'd locked it from the outside.

"No, no, no, no —"

He heard footsteps on the stairs above him. Heavy footsteps. Fast ones.

They knew.

Liam spun around, looking for anywhere to hide. There was a supply closet to his left, the door half-open. He dove inside, pulling the door shut behind him just as the footsteps hit the basement floor.

He pressed himself against the back wall, trying to make himself as small as possible. The closet smelled like bleach and old mops. His own breath sounded too loud in the darkness.

"Check the exit," a voice said. It was one of the goons, the bigger one. "He's gotta be down here."

"He couldn't have gone far," another voice replied. "The service elevator's locked. He's still in the building."

Liam squeezed his eyes shut. Think. He had to think.

His phone. The one he kept for emergencies, buried in his locker. He'd never used it, but it was there. If he could get to the locker room on the first floor, he could call for help. Couldn't he?

And then what? Tell the police he'd witnessed a murder? Become a witness in a case against Julian Croft, one of the richest men in the city?

He'd be dead before the trial even started.

The footsteps were getting closer. Liam could see shadows moving under the door. One of them stopped right outside the closet.

"Check in here," the goon said.

Liam's hand moved before his brain caught up. He grabbed the nearest mop and gripped it like a weapon, his knuckles white. It wasn't much. It was nothing, really. But it was all he had.

The door swung open.

Liam swung the mop as hard as he could.

It connected with something solid — a face, probably — and the goon went down with a grunt. Liam didn't wait to see what happened next. He bolted past the fallen man, running toward the stairs again.

"There he is!" someone shouted behind him.

Liam didn't look back. He just ran.

Up the stairs this time, not down. They expected him to run for the basement exit. They'd blocked it off. But nobody ever expected anyone to go up.

First floor. Second floor. Third floor.

His legs were screaming at him now, every muscle burning with the effort. He'd been a runner once, back in the old days. Back when he had a reason to run. Now it felt like his lungs were filled with glass.

Fifteenth floor. The library.

Liam burst through the door and almost collapsed. The library was empty this time of night, just rows of books and dark computer screens and the soft hum of air conditioning. He ducked behind a shelf and pressed his back against the wall.

His heart was beating so fast he thought it might explode.

Then he heard something that made it stop completely.

"Liam."

A woman's voice. Quiet. Confused.

Liam looked up, and there she was. Maya. The data analyst from the seventh floor, the one who always said hello to him in the break room. She was wearing her work clothes, holding a coffee cup, looking at him like he'd just grown a second head.

"Maya —" Liam started.

"What are you doing here?" she asked. "The library's closed after midnight. I just came to grab my headphones and —" Her eyes widened. "Are you bleeding?"

Liam looked down at his arm. There was a gash on his forearm, deep and angry, blood dripping onto the carpet. He hadn't even felt it. Adrenaline, probably.

"It's nothing," he said. "Look, Maya, you need to leave. Now. Get out of the building, don't tell anyone you saw me —"

"Liam, what's going on?" She stepped closer, her face worried. "I've never seen you like this. You never even talk to anyone, and now you're running through the building bleeding —"

"There's no time —"

The library door slammed open.

Liam grabbed Maya and pulled her down behind the shelf, one hand over her mouth. She was stiff with shock, her eyes huge and terrified.

"Search the room," a voice ordered. "He's got to be in here."

Two sets of footsteps walked into the library. Liam could hear them moving between the shelves, slow and deliberate. They weren't in a hurry. They knew he couldn't escape.

Maya looked at him, her eyes asking a thousand questions he couldn't answer.

Liam released her mouth and put a finger to his lips. Don't make a sound. He pointed toward the window at the back of the room. Fire escape.

She nodded, her face pale.

They moved together, silent and desperate. Liam kept his body between Maya and the sound of the footsteps, shielding her even though he had no idea why. She wasn't part of this. She shouldn't have to die just because she was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

They reached the window. Liam pushed it open, the night air flooding in, cold and sharp.

"Go," he whispered. "Go now."

Maya hesitated. "Liam —"

"GO."

She climbed onto the fire escape, her hands shaking. Liam followed right behind her, pulling the window closed just as one of the goons appeared at the end of the aisle.

"Hey!" the goon shouted.

Liam didn't stop. He grabbed Maya's hand and they ran down the metal stairs, their footsteps ringing in the empty night. The city sprawled below them, glittering and cold and absolutely indifferent to what was happening on this dark rooftop.

They reached the ground level and kept running, into the alley, past dumpsters and broken pallets and rats scattering in the darkness.

Liam didn't stop until his lungs were screaming and his legs wouldn't move anymore.

He collapsed against a brick wall, gasping for air. Maya was beside him, bent over, trying to breathe.

"What," she wheezed, "the actual hell, Liam?"

Liam looked at her. Then down at his pocket where the USB drive was still burning a hole in his pants.

"I can't explain right now," he said. "But I need your help."

Maya stared at him like he'd lost his mind.

"Please," Liam said. "Please, Maya. I don't have anyone else."