Midnight Revelations
The hallway was a muted echo of fluorescent hum, the night shift nurses drifting like ghosts past my door.
My phone buzzed on the bedside table, a lone vibration that sliced the silence.
A message from an unknown number: “You need to see this.”
I swiped open the attachment, and a grainy photo flooded the screen.
Holden stood in a dimly lit parking garage, his hand clasped around a briefcase, a man in a dark suit leaning in close.
The stranger’s face was half‑shadow, the edge of a cigar smoldering between his fingers.
Below the image, a timestamp: 02:17 AM – 2 days ago.
A chill ran down my spine as I realized the suit’s lapel bore the logo of a known offshore venture—one tied to money laundering scandals.
I felt the weight of betrayal settle in my chest, heavier than the hospital blankets.
“You’re not just selling me out, Holden,” I whispered to the empty room, my voice trembling.
My hand tightened around the phone, the glass slick with my own sweat.
