Chapter 1 - The Lockdown
The metal handle of the locker room door was cold, biting into Amanda’s palm, but it wouldn't budge. She rattled it once, then twice, the metallic clatter echoing unnaturally loud in the empty corridor. Locked. Her breath hitched. The cleaning staff were barred from this wing after a certain hour unless authorized, and she had just been trapped by a security system she didn't know existed.
Inside, she heard a soft, muffled sound. Bia was awake.
“Bia?” Amanda hissed, pressing her ear to the steel door.
There was no crying—just the rhythmic thump-thump of a baby exploring her small, blanket-lined fortress. Amanda’s heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. If she were caught here, not only would she be fired instantly, but child services would be called. The cruelty of the world didn't make exceptions for desperate mothers.
Voices approached from the glass-walled lobby—the sharp, clipped tones of Arthur Albuquerque and his lead consultant.
“The accounts don’t align, Arthur,” the consultant said, his voice dripping with professional malice. “Two million dollars in assets evaporated between the regional hub and the central ledger. If the board finds out, you’re looking at more than just a stock dip. You’re looking at an investigation.”
Arthur Albuquerque’s laugh was brittle, like breaking glass. “Let them investigate. They won't find anything. I’ve scrubbed the trail.”
Amanda held her breath, pressing herself into the shadows of a potted plant. She had to move, but where? The conference room was at the end of the hall. If she could just reach the service elevator, she might be able to trigger a bypass, but it was back past the lobby.
Suddenly, the locker room door made a soft, electronic click. It had been put on a timer, and the automated system had overridden the manual lock.
The door drifted open three inches.
Amanda didn't hesitate. She squeezed into the dark, cramped room. Bia was sitting on the floor, holding her teddy bear, her eyes wide and luminous in the dim light. She reached out, a silent plea for comfort. Amanda scooped her up, burying her face in the girl’s hair.
“We have to be ghosts, Bia,” Amanda whispered, her voice barely audible. “We have to be invisible.”
But Bia was a toddler, and toddlers are not built for invisibility. Just as Amanda stepped back toward the door to plan her escape, Bia saw something through the sliver of the doorway—a ball that had rolled from a child's toy set in the breakroom earlier that day. With a sudden, quick movement, Bia wiggled out of Amanda’s arms and scurried into the hallway.
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“No!” Amanda reached for her, but she was too slow.
Bia didn't head for the elevator. She crawled, silent as a shadow, toward the open door of the conference room.
