Page 12 of Perfect Stalker

The company archives spans the entire floor below the C-Suite. It has every movie ever made, I swear, plus books about films from different time periods, case studies, and even white papers.Usually, this room calms me, but today, its cavernous space only amplifies my unease.

“Golden age of Hollywood,” I mutter, trailing my fingertips along DVD cases. “Whatever that means.”

I pull titles that catch my eye:Casablanca, Citizen Kane,andGone with the Wind. Each one is completely random, since I have no idea for what he requires them.

Without specific guidance, it doesn’t take long to gather as many as I can carry. Definitely not thirty minutes, but it’s probably close enough. I’m desperate to set down this stack, so with my arms laden with classic films, I take the elevator and go straight to Ivan’s office. The closer I get, the clearer the voices become—sharp, angry Russian cutting through the usual office quiet.

“Security protocols aren’t negotiable…” That’s Marcus, his deep voice unmistakable even through the heavy oak door. He’s speaking in English, so I can actually understand the words.

I freeze mid-step, the DVDs pressed against my chest like a shield. I press myself against the wall beside Ivan’s door, the stack of classic films sliding in my trembling hands. Each raised voice pierces through the wood like a needle, making my pulse thunder in my ears. I shift my weight, adjusting my grip onCasablancabefore it slips completely.

“We’ve used legitimate channels before.” Ivan’s rich baritone carries through, his typical precise pronunciation giving way to harder Russian consonants. “The entertainment industry has always been?—”

“Too risky now.” Marcus’s deep voice slices through Ivan’s argument. Metal scrapes against wood—probably his chair pushing back. “The feds are watching those channels like hawks.One wrong move moving through the company, and they’ll be crawling up our asses with a microscope. We can’t afford that kind of heat.”

“There are other ways.” Ivan says something in Russian, followed by the sharp crack of something hitting his desk. “I didn’t build this empire by playing it safe.”

I clutch the DVDs tighter, their plastic edges digging into my palms. The conversation beyond that door is rapidly becoming something I absolutely shouldn’t be hearing.

My fingers go numb. The corner ofCasablancadigs into my palm while I struggle to process what they’re saying. “No,” I whisper, shaking my head. “This isn’t...” But the words die in my throat as more angry Russian spills through the door.

Suddenly angry, because I was so hopeful about the changes around here, I storm into the office, my arms still full of the DVDs of the classic movies. Ivan and Marcus turn to me, surprise evident on their faces.

“Ms. Graham, I don’t recall inviting you in,” says Ivan sharply.

I slam down the DVDs on his desk, fury coursing through me. “I won’t work for you if your business is tainted by illegal dealings,” I say, my voice shaking with anger and disappointment.

Ivan’s eyes widen, and he takes a step toward me. “Jenny, let me explain?—”

“No.” I cut him off, holding up a hand. “I don’t want to hear it. I trusted you, Ivan. I thought this job was chance to build something real, but it’s all just a front for your criminal activities, isn’t it?”

Marcus moves to stand between us, his posture tense. “Ms. Graham, you’re making assumptions based on a fragment of conversation you overheard.”

I laugh bitterly. “Am I? Then explain to me why you were discussing moving something through the company. That sounds like money laundering or drugs, and I want no part of either. So, go ahead. Explain. I’m all ears.”

Ivan’s expression hardens. “This is a complex situation that you don’t fully understand.”

“I understand enough that I can’t be a part of this. I quit.” I turn on my heel, ready to storm out, but Ivan’s voice stops me.

“Jenny, wait. Please. Let me explain.”

For a moment, I hesitate. Part of me wants to hear him out, to believe there’s a reasonable explanation for all of this, but the larger part, the part that’s been burned too many times before, won’t let me stay. “I’m sorry, Mr. Markov,” I say coldly. “I can’t do this. Goodbye.”

I walk out of the office, ignoring his calls for me to come back. My heels click against the polished floor while I make my way to my new office—the one I’ll never use now. I grab my purse and jacket, then head for the elevator.

Natalia rises from her desk when I pass. “Jenny? Is everything okay?”

I force a smile. “I’m not feeling well. I’m going home for the day.”

She frowns, concern evident in her expression. “Do you want me to call you a car?”

“No, thank you. I’ll take the bus.”

The elevator arrives, and I step inside, relief washing over me as the doors close. I slump against the wall, closing my eyelids and taking deep breaths. What have I gotten myself into?

Outside, the Atlanta heat hits me like a wall. I make my way to the bus stop, my thoughts spinning. How could I have been so blind? The lavish office, the sudden promotion, and the air of secrecy—it all makes sense now. I was just a pawn in Ivan’s illegal operations. Was he setting me up to be a fall-guy since he kept only me on from the old company staff?

Reaching the bus stop, the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I glance across the street and freeze. A figure stands in the shadows, watching me. My heart leaps into my throat. Is it Stephen? Has he found me?

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