Dave Langston's Pov
The Langston building towered over the city in the early morning light, all glass and steel gleaming in the sun, the kind of structure that whispered wealth and power in the skyline. Dave Langston had been here countless times in daylight, walking past the same guards, shaking the same hands, smiling for the same cameras. But today, as he slipped in through the side entrance with his collar turned up, it felt different.
It felt like trespassing.
He moved quickly down the empty corridors, his footsteps echoing against polished marble floors. In his pocket was a slim USB drive and in his chest a heart hammering like a drum.
The executive offices were quiet. Dave used his keycard, cursing softly at how his hand trembled as the green light blinked and the door unlocked. Inside, Victor's office was immaculate: dark oak desk, leather chairs, shelves lined with books Dave doubted his brother had ever read.
Dave crossed to the desk, slid into the chair and woke the laptop. His brother's passwords weren't exactly a mystery, Victor thought himself cleve but Dave had grown up alongside him. After a few tries, the desktop blinked awake.
Dave plugged in the USB and started copying everything financial records, hidden correspondence, encrypted folders with vague labels that set his teeth on edge. The loading bar crawled forward, every second feeling like a lifetime.
Behind him, the office door creaked.
Dave spun around, pulse racing but it was only the faint sound of the building's ventilation system groaning. He exhaled sharply, pressing a hand to his chest. "Get a grip, Dave." he muttered.
What he didn't know was that someone had seen him.
Nathan Langston, Victor's son, had stopped by the building to retrieve his forgotten backpack after an early breakfast with friends. He had been heading toward his father's office when he saw his uncle slipping inside.
Nathan paused in the hall, brow furrowed. Uncle Dave? At this hour?
He pulled out his phone, hitting speed dial. After a few rings, Victor's voice answered, clipped and impatient.
"Dad." Nathan whispered, glancing at the door. "Uncle Dave's here. He's in your office, I don't know what he's doing but… he's acting weird. Real jumpy."
There was silence on the other end. Then Victor's voice, cold as ice. "Stay where you are, don't confront him. Just record everything."
Nathan nodded quickly, though his father couldn't see it. "Got it."
He ended the call, opened the camera app and lifted the phone just enough to catch the crack of light under the office door. His heart raced, excitement and dread mixing in equal measure.
Inside, Dave watched the files copy, sweat beading on his forehead. Ninety-two percent. Ninety-eight. Complete. He yanked the USB free, tucked it into his jacket and shut down the computer.
As he left the office, Nathan melted into the shadows, phone recording. He followed at a distance, his sneakers soundless against the carpeted floor. Down the stairwell, across the lobby, through the side exit.
Outside, the city was already awake. Delivery trucks rumbled past, pedestrians hurried with coffee cups in hand and sunlight reflected off car hoods in blinding flashes.
Nathan trailed him silently, camera still rolling. The boy's hands trembled with adrenaline. this was more than sneaking out past curfew or skipping class. This was something real.
Dave's fingers hovered over the screen. Then he dialed.
The line clicked.
Brooklyn's voice came through, sharp, impatient. "What is it?"
"It's Dave." he said, his voice shaking despite his attempt to sound calm. "I—I found something. We need to meet."
A pause. Then, "Where?"
Dave glanced around, lowering his voice. "The train station. South platform, there's less cameras there. I'll be waiting."
Brooklyn exhaled on the other end, a sound that was both relief and warning. "Alright, act normal until I get there."
The line went dead.
Dave shoved the phone back into his pocket, nerves eating at him. Nathan crouched low behind a mailbox, phone still in hand. The boy's recording had captured everything.
Nathan lifted the device, he stopped recording, switched to text and typed quickly:
Dad, he's going to meet someone at the train station. Should I follow?
The reply was almost immediate: Yes. Don't let him out of your sight. And keep sending me proof.
Dave glanced over his shoulder once, then twice, then headed for his car.
Nathan's pulse quickened. He slipped the phone into his pocket, eyes locked on Dave's car as the engine revved. His uncle pulled out of the lot and Nathan darted toward his bike chained nearby. He fumbled with the lock, hands shaking, then pedaled into the morning traffic, keeping distance but never losing sight of the taillights ahead.
When Dave finally pulled into the cracked lot near the south platform of the train station, he killed the engine and sat for a moment, head in his hands. He had crossed a line today and there was no going back.
Nathan coasted to a stop half a block away, hiding his bike behind a dumpster. He raised his phone again, zooming in on Dave's car. His thumb hovered over the record button.
"Alright, Uncle Dave." he muttered under his breath. "Let's see who you're really meeting."