The Lockout

I stared at the screen, my finger hovering over the mouse pad.

*Access Denied.*

I tried again. *System Override: Emergency Protocol 9.*

*Access Denied. User Permissions Revoked.*

I shoved the laptop away. It slid across the quartz countertop, hitting the fruit bowl with a dull *thud*.

Julian had locked me out. Not just from the admin panel, but from the entire network. My emails. My bank accounts. Even the smart fridge was blinking a red warning light.

I was ghosted in my own house.

"Elena?"

Julian walked into the kitchen. He was wearing his suit jacket again, buttoned up. He looked ready for a board meeting, or a funeral.

"Why is the fridge locked?" I asked, my voice tight.

"It's part of the lockdown," he said smoothly. "To prevent tampering. We don't want anyone spiking the water supply."

"I can't get into my email."

"Standard procedure. If your credentials are compromised, we have to isolate the accounts. I'll restore access once the threat is neutralized."

"When will that be?"

"Soon," he said. He checked his watch. "The launch is in twenty-four hours. After that... things will go back to normal."

"Normal," I repeated.

"Yes. You'll see. Once the press leaves, once the investors are happy... we can breathe again."

He walked to the window. The shutters were down, blocking the view of the gray morning.

"I need you to sign something else," he said.

"I already signed the custody agreement."

"This is different. It's a transfer of intellectual property rights. Just a formality. To protect the code in case... well, in case something happens to you."

He pulled a document from his inside pocket.

I looked at it.

*Assignment of Copyright.*

It wasn't a formality. It was a handover. If I signed this, Julian owned Aerie Point. The code. The patents. The future.

"I'm not signing that," I said.

"Elena..."

"No. You have custody of me. You don't get my brain."

He looked at me. His expression was sad. Disappointed. Like I was a child refusing to eat my vegetables.

"I'm trying to help you, El. If Thorne gets his hands on this..."

"Thorne is the CEO. He already has it."

"He has the license," Julian corrected. "He doesn't have the source code. You do. And if you're incapacitated... it goes into limbo. Unless you assign it to someone you trust."

"I trust myself," I said.

"Do you?"

He walked over to the counter. He picked up the bottle of Xanax.

"You missed a dose," he said.

"I'm fine."

"You're shaking."

I looked at my hands. They were trembling.

"Take a pill," he said. "Please."

He shook one out into his palm. He held it out to me.

I looked at the pill.

I looked at his face.

I took it.

I put it in my mouth. I drank some water from the tap. I swallowed.

Julian smiled. "Good girl."

He put the document on the counter. "Think about it. I'll be in the study."

He walked out.

I waited until I heard the study door close.

Then I ran to the bathroom.

I gagged myself. I threw up the water. I threw up the pill.

I flushed it.

I wasn't going to be sedated. Not now.

I went back to the kitchen. I looked at the document.

I needed to get out of here.

But the doors were locked. The windows were sealed. And my car was gone.

I needed a way to signal the outside world.

The burner phone.

I ran down to the Core.

The door was locked.

I tried the keypad. *9-1-1-0*.

*Access Denied.*

He had changed the code.

I was cut off.

I went back upstairs. I paced the living room.

Think. You're the architect. You built this cage.

There had to be a flaw. A weakness.

The windows.

They were ballistic glass. Bulletproof. Hurricane-proof.

But they were held in place by a frame.

A frame that was bolted into the concrete.

If I could loosen the bolts...

I needed tools.

The garage.

I ran to the mudroom. The door to the garage was locked.

Of course.

I kicked it. Once. Twice.

It held.

I leaned against the door, sliding down to the floor.

I was trapped.

Then, a sound.

A *click*.

From the front door.

I froze.

The heavy deadbolts were retracting.

*Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.*

The door swung open.

Standing there, framed by the daylight, was a man.

He was wearing a uniform. A delivery uniform. UPS.

He was holding a package.

"Delivery for Elena Vance?" he called out.

I scrambled up. "I'm here!"

I ran toward the door.

"Don't come in!" I shouted. "Stay there!"

The delivery guy looked confused. "Ma'am? I just need a signature."

I reached the foyer.

But before I could get to the door...

The steel shutters slammed down.

*Wham.*

Total darkness.

"No!" I screamed. I pounded on the metal. "Help! Help me!"

"Ma'am?" the delivery guy's voice was muffled. "Are you okay?"

"Call the police!" I yelled. "Call 911!"

"Elena," Julian's voice said from behind me.

I spun around.

He was standing at the top of the stairs. He was holding a remote control.

"Let the man do his job," he said.

He pressed a button.

The intercom crackled.

*"Leave the package,"* Julian's voice boomed through the external speakers. *"Mrs. Vance is indisposed."*

"But she was screaming," the delivery guy said.

*"She's having an episode,"* Julian said smoothly. *"We're handling it. Thank you."*

I heard the package drop. Then footsteps walking away.

The truck engine started. It drove off.

I sank to the floor.

"Why?" I whispered.

"Because you're not ready," Julian said. He walked down the stairs. "You're erratic. You're dangerous."

He grabbed my arm. He pulled me up.

"Come with me."

"Where?"

"To the Panic Room," he said.

"We don't have a Panic Room."

"We do now," he said.

He dragged me toward the kitchen. Toward the pantry.

"No," I said, digging my heels in. "I'm not going down there."

"You don't have a choice."

He opened the pantry door. He swung the wine rack out.

The dark mouth of the sub-basement waited.

"Get in," he said.

"Julian, please."

"Get in!"

He shoved me.

I stumbled down the stairs. I fell. I hit my knee on the concrete.

The wine rack slammed shut above me.

Darkness.

Then, the monitors flickered on.

The room was bathed in blue light.

I was back in the cell.

"Welcome home," Julian's voice said over the intercom.

I looked around.

The chair was there. The mannequin was gone.

But on the table...

A tablet.

And a note.

*Watch.*

I picked up the tablet.

It was playing a video.

A livestream.

Of the living room upstairs.

Julian was sitting on the sofa. He was pouring a drink.

And sitting across from him...

Was Marcus Thorne.

"She's secure?" Marcus asked.

"She's in the box," Julian said. "Safe and sound."

"Good," Marcus said. "The investors are nervous. They heard rumors about a breach."

"Rumors are just noise," Julian said. "Tomorrow, when the system goes live, the stock will triple. And Elena... Elena will be the tragic genius who cracked under the pressure."

"And the IP?"

"She'll sign," Julian said. "She just needs a little... motivation."

Marcus laughed. "You always were good at motivation."

He stood up. He walked to the window.

"It's a shame," he said. "She really was talented."

"She still is," Julian said. "But talent isn't enough. You need control."

Marcus turned. "And the other problem?"

"Leo?" Julian asked. " handled."

"And the reporter? The podcast girl?"

"Sasha?" Julian smiled. "She's... participating."

I stared at the screen.

Participating.

What did that mean?

My phone buzzed. The burner.

It was in my pocket. I hadn't lost it in the struggle.

I pulled it out.

One new message.

From Unknown Number.

*Look under the chair.*

I looked at the red velvet armchair in the center of the room.

I got down on my knees. I looked underneath.

Taped to the bottom of the seat...

Was a small, silver key.

I ripped it off.

*What is this for?* I typed.

*The door,* the reply came.

I looked at the heavy steel door at the back of the room. The one that led to the tunnel.

I ran to it.

I tried the key in the lock.

It turned.

*Click.*

The door swung open.

Cool, damp air rushed in.

I looked into the tunnel. Darkness.

*Where does it go?* I typed.

*To the truth,* the message said.

I stepped into the tunnel.

I turned on my phone flashlight.

The walls were rough rock. This wasn't part of the house foundation. This was older. Much older.

The sanitarium tunnels.

I walked.

The tunnel went on for a hundred yards. Then it ended.

A ladder went up.

I climbed.

I pushed against a wooden trapdoor. It was heavy.

I shoved it open.

I climbed out.

I was in a shed.

A garden shed.

I looked around. Potting soil. Rakes. A lawnmower.

I looked out the window.

I was in the backyard.

Of the Onyx Villa.

The neighbor's house.

The house that was broken into.

I stared at the black house. It was dark. Empty.

But the front door was open.

I walked toward it.

I slipped inside.

The house was unfurnished. Staged.

But in the living room...

There was a table.

And on the table...

A laptop.

It was open.

And on the screen...

A livestream.

Of my house.

Of the sub-basement.

Of the empty chair where I had just been.

Someone was watching me.

Someone was watching Julian watch me.

I looked at the laptop camera. A piece of tape was over the lens.

But next to the laptop...

A stack of files.

I opened the top one.

*Subject: Julian Vance.*
*Status: Active Asset.*
*Objective: Liquidation.*

I frowned.

Liquidation?

I opened the next file.

*Subject: Marcus Thorne.*
*Status: Primary Target.*
*Objective: Public Exposure.*

I looked at the third file.

*Subject: Elena Vance.*
*Status: Bait.*

Bait.

I wasn't the target.

I was the lure.

"Hello, Elena," a voice said.

I spun around.

Standing in the doorway of the kitchen...

Was Sasha.

She wasn't tied up. She wasn't scared.

She was holding a glass of wine.

"Sasha?" I whispered.

She smiled. It was a cold, sharp smile.

"I told you," she said. "The story needed a twist."

She took a sip of wine.

"Julian thinks he's the Director," she said. "Marcus thinks he's the Producer."

She walked toward me.

"But they forgot about the Writer."

She set the wine glass down on the table next to the files.

"And the Writer," she whispered, "always kills her darlings."