She reached down, picked up the $100 bill, and tucked it into Braden's suit pocket. Keep your money, she said softly. You're going to need it. Elena picked up her tray, turned on her heel, and walked away. For 10 seconds, nobody at the table breathed.
Julian Thorne stared at the empty space where the waitress had stood. His heart was hammering against his ribs, a sensation he hadn't felt in years. He grabbed his tablet, his fingers flying across the screen, pulling up the raw data files for the Biogen trials, digging deep into the obscure appendices she had mentioned. Julian, Braden stammered. She's crazy, right?
Just a crazy chick reading conspiracy forums. Julian didn't answer. He found the data. He ran the adjustment she suggested. His face drained of color.
She was right. "My God," Julian whispered. He stood up so abruptly his chair toppled over backward, crashing onto the floor. Julian, where did she go? Julian barked, scanning the restaurant floor. Get the manager now.
He had asked for a joke. Instead, a waitress had just handed him the keys to the kingdom and saved him from financial ruin between serving rounds of drinks. And he didn't even know her name. Julian Thorne didn't run. Men like him didn't run.
They strode with purpose. But as he navigated through the crowded tables of the Gilded Cage, there was a frantic energy in his step that terrified the staff. He cornered the manager, Mr. Henderson near the kitchen doors. Henderson was sweating, wiping his forehead with a handkerchief.
Mr. Thorne, I am so terribly sorry, Henderson babbled, wringing his hands. I saw her being rude. It's unacceptable. I've already fired her.
She's packing her locker right now. I assure you, she will never work in this city again. You fired her? Julian's voice was a low growl. Yes, immediately.
We have standards here. "And you, idiot," Julian hissed. He grabbed Henderson by the lapels of his cheap suit, pulling him close. If you let her leave this building, I will buy this building, burn it to the ground, and ensure you are unhirable even as a janitor. Do you understand me?
Henderson gasped, his eyes bulging. "Yes. Yes, Mr. Thorne."
What is her name? Elena. Elena Vance.
Elena. The name rolled through Julian's mind. It sounded ordinary, yet the woman attached to it was anything but. Stay out of my way, Julian ordered, shoving the manager aside. He pushed through the swinging double doors into the kitchen.
The kitchen was a chaotic symphony of shouting chefs, clanging pans, and steam. Julian ignored it all, marching toward the back where the staff lockers were located. He needed to find her. He needed to know how. How did a waitress know about the Kansas data variance?
That information wasn't just obscure. It was practically non-existent to the public. Only someone with high-level clearance or a genius level intellect for pattern recognition could have spotted it.
He rounded the corner to the locker bay. It was empty. A single locker door swung open on rusty hinges. Inside, a discarded name tag read Elena. Damn it.
Julian slammed his fist against the metal. He ran to the service exit, bursting out into the cool night air of the alleyway. It was raining lightly, the NYC street slick and reflecting the neon lights. He looked left, then right. Half a block down, he saw a figure in a worn beige trench coat walking briskly toward the subway station, clutching a broken umbrella.
Elena! Julian shouted, his voice echoing off the brick walls. The figure didn't stop. She walked faster. Julian sprinted.
He caught up to her just as she was swiping her metro card at the turnstile of the 51st Street station. He reached over the barrier and grabbed her arm gently this time, unlike Braden. Elena, wait.
She spun around, her eyes flashing with defensive anger. Up close, without the dim lighting of the restaurant, he saw the exhaustion etched into her features. She wasn't wearing makeup. Her hair was pulled back in a messy bun. She looked nothing like the polished corporate sharks he dealt with daily.
Yet she held herself with more dignity than all of them combined. Let go of me, she said, her voice sharp. I've been fired. You got what you wanted. You had your laugh.
Leave me alone. I didn't fire you, Julian said, breathless. And I'm not laughing. Well, your friend Braden probably is. "Forget Braden," Julian said intensely.
"He does not matter. You were right about Biogen. I checked the data." Elena pulled her arm free, rubbing the spot where he had touched her. Of course, I was right. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go home and figure out how to pay my rent since I just lost my income.
She pushed through the turnstile. Wait. Julian pulled a platinum credit card from his wallet. I'll pay you for your time. Just talk to me.
Elena paused on the other side of the bars. She looked at the card, then up at him with a look of utter disdain. You think money fixes everything, don't you, Mr. Thorne? It usually does.
Not this, she said. You want to know how I knew? Because "I used to be you. Only better." Before Julian could process that, a subway train rumbled into the station below, the noise swallowing the air. Who are you?
Julian asked, desperate. Where did you work? Elena hesitated. The train doors chimed below.
Ask Marcus Sterling, she said, her voice barely audible over the screech of the brakes. Ask him about the ghost of Liberty Street. She turned and ran down the stairs.
Julian stood frozen at the turnstile. Marcus Sterling. The name was like a splash of acid. Marcus Sterling was Julian's biggest rival, the CEO of Sterling Global and a man known for his ruthlessness. They had been at war for market share for 5 years.
And the ghost of Liberty Street, it was an urban legend on Wall Street. Five years ago, there was a rumor of a quantitative analyst at Sterling Global who had built an algorithm so perfect it predicted the 2021 crash to the hour. But then the analyst vanished. No name, no trace. Rumor was they had been caught embezzling and fled the country.
Julian pulled out his phone. His hands were shaking slightly. He dialed his head of security. It's Thorn. I need a background check.
Immediate priority alpha. Name, sir? Elena Vance. Cross reference with Sterling Global and find out everything about an alias or nickname, the ghost of Liberty Street. He hung up and stared down into the dark subway tunnel.