Chapter 3 - The Framed Savior
Elise stared at the barrel of the gun, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs.
“That is impossible,” she said, her voice shaking but firm.
“I was cleaning the east wing all morning, and I haven't used my ID badge since I clocked in.”
Jonah kept the pistol aimed directly at her heart.
“The digital footprint says otherwise,” Jonah snapped.
“You created the slick spot, you brought the technician in, and you played the hero to get close to the boss.”
One of the other guards stepped forward, reaching for handcuffs.
“Wait,” Caleb ordered, his voice echoing sharply across the silent foyer.
He glared at Jonah, his authority absolute even while sitting on the floor.
“If she wanted me dead, she would have let the chair go over the edge.”
“She is covering her tracks,” Jonah argued.
Caleb shook his head slowly.
“Assassins don't kick cleaning carts to save their targets.”
He looked at Elise with piercing, analytical eyes.
“Where is your ID badge right now, Elise?”
Elise reached into the pocket of her blue uniform apron.
Her fingers closed around nothing but empty air.
Panic flared in her chest as she checked her other pocket.
“It’s gone,” she whispered.
“I left it in my locker in the staff dressing room when I changed my uniform an hour ago.”
Caleb looked at his security chief.
“Go to the staff locker room, Jonah.”
“Check her locker.”
Jonah slowly lowered his weapon, though he clearly didn't trust her.
“Keep a gun on her,” Jonah ordered his men as he turned to walk down the hallway.
Elise stood perfectly still, surrounded by heavily armed men who were waiting for a reason to shoot.
Five agonizing minutes passed in total silence.
Then, heavy footsteps echoed back down the marble corridor.
Jonah returned, but his face had lost all of its arrogant anger.
He looked physically sick.
He was holding Elise’s plastic ID badge in his gloved hand.
“Did you find it in my locker?” Elise asked desperately.
Jonah did not answer her immediately.
He looked down at Caleb.
“I found her badge,” Jonah confirmed quietly.
“It was sitting on top of a black duffel bag shoved in the bottom of her locker.”
Caleb narrowed his eyes.
“What was in the bag, Jonah?”
Jonah took a ragged breath and looked directly into Caleb’s eyes.
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“The real wheelchair technician,” Jonah replied.
“His throat was slashed, and his blood is still warm.”
