The few days that followed were a tense waiting game. I focused on the smaller details, keeping busy at work, hitting the gym, and meeting up with my friends, all the while acutely aware of the ticking clock. I knew Luther was a cornered animal, and cornered animals were unpredictable. I made sure to vary my routine, always looking over my shoulder, and letting my friends know exactly where I was at all times.
Then, it came.
My phone buzzed, displaying a text from an unknown number. My heart skipped a beat. I unlocked it, my fingers trembling slightly.
"Lunch. Tomorrow. 1 PM. The Old Mill. Come alone."
It was short, clipped, and undeniably from Luther. The Old Mill was a secluded restaurant on the outskirts of the city, popular for its privacy and discretion. Perfect for a clandestine rendezvous.
I took a screenshot of the text, forwarding it to my friend, Sarah, a former investigative journalist with a penchant for uncovering secrets. Her network of contacts was invaluable, and she knew exactly how to sniff out a rat. I texted her back: "Confirmed. Old Mill. 1 PM. Tomorrow. Need backup."
The next day dawned grey and ominous, mirroring my mood. I dressed in a simple, unassuming outfit – jeans, a plain sweater, and sensible shoes. Today wasn't about power; it was about observation. I arrived at The Old Mill a few minutes early, scanning the parking lot for anything suspicious. It was surprisingly empty, save for a few scattered cars.
Inside, the restaurant was dimly lit, with heavy wooden beams and thick stone walls. A hostess, with an overly practiced smile, led me to a secluded booth in the back, overlooking a stagnant pond. Luther was already there, nursing a glass of something amber colored. He looked even more haggard than I remembered, his slicked-back hair slightly askew, and dark circles under his eyes. He had the look of a man who hadn't slept in days.
"Thanks for coming, Clair," he said, his voice strained. He didn't offer to shake my hand.
"Straight to the point, Luther?" I asked, sliding into the booth. "I appreciate that."
He took a long swig of his drink. "You said you had information... about the Westgate Project."
"Information that suggests irregularities," I corrected him. "Information that could bring the whole house of cards crashing down."
He slammed his glass down on the table, making me jump. "What do you want, Clair? Money? Exposure? What's your price?"
"My price?" I laughed, a hollow sound echoing in the dimly lit booth. "This isn't about money, Luther. This is about justice."
He scoffed. "Justice? Don't give me that sanctimonious crap. Everyone has a price, Clair. Even you."
"You clearly don't know me very well," I said, meeting his gaze head-on. "I want the truth, Luther. The whole truth. I want to know what kind of shady deals you and Richard have been cooking up. And I want to know who else is involved."
He stared at me, his eyes narrowed. I could see the wheels turning in his head, calculating his options. He knew he was trapped. He knew I had something on him. The only question was, how much did I know?
He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "Suppose... suppose I told you everything. What then?"
"Then," I said, a slow smile spreading across my face, "we talk about how you can make things right. How you can help me expose Richard and his empire of lies. And maybe, just maybe, I'll convince the authorities that you're cooperating. That you're a valuable witness."
He hesitated, his face a mask of conflicting emotions. Fear, greed, desperation. He was a man on the edge, and I was about to push him over.
"Alright, Clair," he said finally, his voice barely audible. "You want the truth? I'll give you the truth. But you have to promise me... you have to promise me protection."
"Protection?" I raised an eyebrow. "From whom, Luther? Richard?"
He swallowed hard. "From... everyone."
He was about to spill. He was about to unravel everything. And I was ready to listen. But just as he opened his mouth to speak, a figure emerged from the shadows, stepping into the dim light of the booth.
It wasn't Richard.
It was Sarah. And she wasn't alone. Behind her stood two burly men in dark suits, their faces grim and unreadable. They looked like they'd come straight out of a movie about organized crime.
Luther's eyes widened in terror. He looked back at me, betrayal etched on his face.
"You set me up!" he hissed.
I hadn't. At least, not intentionally. I had expected Sarah to be outside, monitoring the situation. I hadn't asked her to storm into the restaurant with muscle. This was a disaster.
Before I could say anything, one of the men grabbed Luther by the arm, pulling him out of the booth. He struggled, but it was no use. They were too strong.
"What are you doing!" I shouted, standing up. "Let him go! I need to talk to him!"
Sarah grabbed my arm, pulling me back. "Clair, we have to get out of here! This is bigger than we thought."
"Bigger than we thought?" I exclaimed, pulling my arm away. "Sarah, what is going on?"
"We don't have time to explain! Just trust me. We need to leave, now!"
She was right. I could feel the danger radiating from these men. Something was terribly wrong. The plan had gone completely off the rails.
I looked back at Luther, his eyes pleading with me as he was dragged towards the exit. I knew, in that moment, that I had inadvertently stumbled into something far more dangerous than I could have ever imagined. Richard was not the only one I was fighting, and whatever Luther knew had made him a liability to someone very powerful. And now, those people were involved. The game had just changed.