The wind screamed across the rooftop like a warning.
Rain slashed sideways against the glass of the forty-second floor, turning the city lights below into trembling rivers of gold and white. Daniel Reeve stood at the edge, soaked to the bone, one hand gripping his phone so tightly that his knuckles turned white. His shoes slipped slightly on the slick concrete, but he didn't move back. There was nowhere left to go.
"Liam…" His voice was low, breaking against the wind. "Listen to me carefully. It's better for me to die than for them to find me. But if you see them hire a new accountant—try to keep him safe."
The voice on the other end trembled. "Daniel, what are you talking about? You're scaring me. Just come down from wherever you are—"
"It's too late," Daniel whispered, eyes unfocused, fixed somewhere far beyond the horizon. His mind flickered with images — spreadsheets full of untraceable transactions, late-night calls from unknown numbers, and the envelope that had arrived on his desk three nights ago marked CONFIDENTIAL in red ink. Inside had been a USB drive and a single sentence:
> If you're reading this, you're already in danger.
He had tried to ignore it. He had told himself it was paranoia. But then they came — the calls, the threats, the eyes watching him from parked cars. He had thought he could expose it, that truth could protect him. But truth had teeth.
The rooftop door banged open behind him.
Three men stepped out, dark suits cutting through the rain, their umbrellas useless now. The one in front, tall and lean with cold gray eyes, called out, "Daniel Reeve. Don't do anything stupid. You know how this ends."
Daniel turned his head slightly, rain tracing down his face like tears. "You can kill me, but you can't erase what I found."
The gray-eyed man took a step forward. "The pin, Daniel. Give us the pin."
Daniel gave a tired, broken smile. "You think I'd bring it here?"
He chuckled under his breath, but there was no humor in it. "Numbers don't lie. They just wait for the right person to read them."
The man's jaw clenched. "Last warning."
Daniel looked up at the sky, lightning carving through the clouds. "You're too late. I've already sent it."
He lifted the phone back to his ear, voice cracking as he whispered, "Tell the truth, Liam. No matter what it costs."
"Daniel, no—"
But the line went dead as Daniel stepped backward, and the world fell away beneath him.
For a heartbeat, time froze — the city's lights spun into streaks, the rain turned to glitter. Then he was gone, swallowed by the storm.
The gray-eyed man cursed, spinning to his men. "Get the phone. Wipe everything. Now."
The rain kept falling, washing away everything except the echo of Daniel Reeve's final words.
---
Two Weeks Later
The same city that had swallowed a man's scream now hummed with life again.
Cabs honked, umbrellas danced in the wind, and the Thames rolled on as if nothing had changed.
In a small flat in South Kensington, Ethan Cole adjusted his tie in the mirror for the third time.
He was twenty-eight, clean-cut, with an expression that balanced hope and determination. His MBA certificate leaned proudly against the wall — the result of sleepless nights, coffee-fueled deadlines, and an unshakable belief that hard work could build a better life.
Today was his shot. His first real job.
"Right," he muttered to his reflection. "Smile. Firm handshake. Don't overthink it."
His phone buzzed on the counter:
Interview – Vanguard Financial Group, 10:00 AM.
Ethan grabbed his folder and dashed out into the drizzle.
---
The lobby of Vanguard Financial Group was built to impress.
Marble floors gleamed under soft golden light, the air perfumed with expensive cologne and power. Huge LED screens displayed financial data, and every step echoed in practiced rhythm.
At the reception desk, a woman smiled. "Good morning. You must be Mr. Cole."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Please, take the lift to the thirty-ninth floor. Mr. Hemsley will see you now."
As he entered the elevator, Ethan glanced around. Two men in black suits stood silently at the back, murmuring to each other in low tones. One of them glanced at Ethan, then quickly looked away.
Ethan smiled politely, trying to ignore the tension. Big companies are always full of serious types, he told himself.
The elevator dinged. Thirty-ninth floor.
He stepped into a hallway so quiet he could hear his own heartbeat. The name on the glass door read:
Walter Hemsley – Chief Financial Officer.
Ethan knocked lightly. "Come in," a voice called.
Mr. Hemsley looked exactly like someone in charge of billions — crisp suit, silver hair, and eyes that saw numbers before people.
"Ah, Mr. Cole." He gestured to the chair opposite his desk. "Please, sit."
"Thank you, sir." Ethan sat carefully, setting his folder on his lap.
"I've reviewed your résumé," Hemsley said, flipping through the papers in front of him. "Top of your class. Strong analytical background. You did your MBA thesis on financial transparency, didn't you?"
"Yes, sir. I believe accountability is the foundation of trust in business."
Hemsley smiled faintly. "Accountability. A rare word these days."
He leaned forward. "Tell me something, Ethan. What do you think is an accountant's greatest strength?"
Ethan paused, considering. "Integrity, sir. Numbers are only as honest as the person who handles them."
For a moment, Hemsley's expression froze — something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. Then he smiled again, almost too quickly. "Well said. Integrity is valuable. But so is discretion."
"I understand."
The interview continued — questions about procedures, audits, and ethics. Yet beneath the polite exchange, something felt slightly off.
When Hemsley asked how Ethan would react if he found "minor irregularities" in a client's account, the older man's tone was almost too casual.
"I'd report it to my supervisor," Ethan said firmly. "Even small errors can grow dangerous if ignored."
Hemsley's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Of course. Diligence is key."
He stood, extending his hand. "We'll be in touch soon, Mr. Cole."
Ethan shook it, feeling the man's grip cold and firm. "Thank you for the opportunity, sir."
As Ethan turned to leave, he didn't notice Hemsley pick up his office phone.
"He's the one," Hemsley said quietly. "Start the process."
---
That evening, rain began again — the same soft, relentless drizzle.
Ethan sat by his window, laptop open, going through job listings, when a new email arrived.
Subject: Employment Offer – Vanguard Financial Group
Body:
> Dear Mr. Cole,
We are pleased to offer you the position of Junior Accountant at Vanguard Financial Group.
Kindly report to the 40th floor by 8:00 a.m. tomorrow.
Congratulations, and welcome to the Vanguard family.
Ethan's heart leapt. He leaned back, exhaling a smile.
Finally — a real beginning.
He didn't notice that the email address was slightly unusual — one extra letter hidden in the sender's domain, barely visible.
He didn't know that in a dimly lit office on the 40th floor, a team of analysts was already digging through his background, his phone records, his old university files.
Nor did he know that across the city, a man named Liam, the same voice who had begged Daniel Reeve to come down from the roof, stared at a file marked "E. COLE – NEW ACCOUNTANT" and whispered to himself,
> "God help him… They've found another one."
Outside, thunder rolled again. The city didn't sleep, and neither did its secrets.
The ledger had begun to open.