I slipped into the stairwell, dim light, dead air. The flash drive nudged my leg, tiny and loaded with secrets, numbers, names, timelines. Enough to burn them all.
The landing light cut through the dark ahead, a beacon or a warning. My hand hovered over the handle. My husband, Trey, would call it betrayal. But turning back meant crawling into Gunnar’s pocket. Two options. No middle.
I pulled. Hinges groaned in protest. Warning me.
The hallway held its breath. No footsteps. No movement. I strained for both.
Nothing. I slipped into low light and a silent hallway. Shay’s office loomed at the end, sealed and final. Leave the flash in her inbox—clean, quiet, anonymous.
The air changed. A hand clamped onto my shoulder. Fingers crushed over my mouth. A gasp died in my throat. Panic exploded through me. I clawed for purchase.
“I had Trey tell you we’d be off-site.” Gunnar’s voice pressed low and furious. “I knew you’d do exactly this.”
His arm cinched around my neck and dragged me back through the stairwell door. It slammed shut behind us.
My back hit concrete hard enough to knock the air from my lungs. I staggered, fighting for footing.
His eyes locked onto mine. Then dropped to my jeans pocket.
To the flash drive.
Panic surged through me. I slapped my hand over it.
Gunnar moved faster. His fingers closed over mine, pried them away and reached toward my pocket—
“Hey!” a shout rang out. “What the hell’s going on?”
Footsteps pounded up the stairs. Gunnar’s grip slipped; he bolted for the third floor.
My legs jolted into motion. I shoved past the two men charging upward. I didn’t stop. Couldn’t. Air bit into my lungs as I hurtled down the steps. The door flew open and spat me into the parking lot. I dove into my car, slammed the door, and jammed the key into the ignition. I threw it into gear and shot from the lot.
My hands shook on the wheel, breath coming sharp. Gunnar’s look replayed in my mind—cold, assessing, the look a man gives a leak he intends to seal. “Siri. Call Tanner.”
The line clicked. “Skoey?”
That one word anchored me. “It’s happening.” My voice cracked. “We need to leave. Now.”
“I’ll gather everything and meet you at… I won’t say where. They may have tapped your car phone. Is the plan still good?”
I locked my fingers around the wheel. The plan still held—barely. “Yes.”
A week ago, Trey stormed out after a fight over Gunnar.
I’d asked him one question. “Are you protecting Gunnar?”
Trey had looked away.
Not because he’d answered. Because he hadn’t.
We hadn’t spoken since, a full week of glacial silence.
This morning, Trey told me he, Gunnar and Shay would be off-site. I said I had something to tell him.
He didn’t ask.
The silence hurt more than the fight.
Now, racing toward escape, Gunnar’s words slammed back into me. “I had Trey tell you we’d be off-site.”
Rain clouds massed as I sped home. Every second stretched, my grip on the wheel tight. I veered into the garage, killed the engine, and bolted for the bedroom. My lungs burned, chest tight.
I’d run out of options. Staying in Anchorage meant Gunnar would track me down. Trey had given me up. The thought carved deeper every time it surfaced.
I’d spent seven days trying to hate him.
I hadn’t managed it yet.
I shoved clothes into the duffel until the zipper strained. My passport landed on top. The flash drive burned against my thigh. Enough evidence to bury Gunnar.
I turned one last time. A small envelope rested on the bed.
SKOEY.
Inside, a USB-C drive.
I plugged it into my iPhone. A video message. IF_FOUND.MOV.
My pulse stumbled. I tapped play.
Trey filled the screen.
For a second I couldn’t breathe.
“If you’re seeing this,” he began, dragging a hand across his face, “Gunnar figured it out.”
Rain rattled against the bedroom window.
“Trey…” The word slipped out.
“I thought I could control it.” His gaze dropped. “I was wrong. And then…I needed you angry at me. To keep you safe.”
Pain sealed my throat. The fight. The silence. “Are you protecting Gunnar?” Trey looking away. I’d treated that moment like proof. Now it belonged to a man trapped between two impossible choices.
“Everything you need is on this drive.”
Gravel crunched outside. Three vehicles, their doors slamming.
I jerked toward the windows. Black SUVs. Headlights swept across the house.
Trey leaned closer to the camera, exhaustion etched into every line of his face.
Outside, men’s voices.
“Trey…” My fingers gripped the phone.
He dragged a hand over his mouth. “If this reaches you before I do, then I need you to know one thing.” His voice cracked. “I never picked Gunnar. I picked you.”
The air left my lungs. I’d spent seven days building a case against him. Replaying every silence. Every look I’d convinced myself meant betrayal.
I’d spent a week mourning a marriage that hadn’t actually ended.
Not betrayal.
Protection.
And if he was right—if he was already gone—
I’d never get to tell him I knew.
Trey glanced away from the camera. When he looked back, something in his expression hollowed me out.
The look of a man already saying goodbye.
The recording ended.
A pounding rattled through the house. The front door.
My head snapped up. Another blow shook the frame.
A voice shouted my name. Ice flooded my veins.
Wood splintered. The door wouldn’t hold much longer.
I locked the bedroom door.
The front door crashed inward.
I lunged for my laptop and jammed the USB-C drive into it. A folder sprang open. Contracts. Emails. Bank transfers. Enough to bury Gunnar. Enough to explain Trey.
Recipient: Shay Richards.
SEND?
I clicked.
The bedroom door shuddered.
A second blow cracked the frame.
The screen flashed.
FILES DELIVERED.
Gunnar filled the doorway.
Too late.
I smiled.
(c) 2026 Lynne Curry
originally published in The Zodiac Review
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