Into the Fire (Flame in the Shadows Trilogy #1)

3. Mel

CHAPTER THREE

MEL

My new boss is late.

Perched on the edge of my seat, I watch through the glass office door as he chats with a short, gray-haired woman out in the hall. If I scoot a few inches to the left, I could peek through the files on his desk. As part of Levett’s leadership team, odds are he knows something about Mom and Dad, but he’ll catch me if I look now.

My palms sweat as I wait. And wait.

Unable to ignore the sickness in my stomach, I tear my eyes from the laughing executives and pull my freshly printed employee badge out of my pocket, careful to leave Mara’s hidden. With my pale skin and ice-blue eyes, plus the shape of my face and the way I hold my mouth, I look exactly like Mom in this picture. Except for my jet-black hair—hers had been silver-blond—this photo could be her. This could be the same badge I played with a million times as a child, coloring at her desk while she worked late.

I hope no one notices.

To my horror, my eyes start to sting. I flip the badge over, willing myself to forget, but a well of tears lurks just below the surface. I need something else to think about. Anything.

Even being ditched this morning.

I waited thirty long, chilly minutes by the trailhead, but Tommy didn’t show. It’s good news, because if he were spying on me for Levett Tech, he’d never have stood me up. Of course, that means I was paranoid. And I lost out on the chance to make a friend.

I miss having friends.

The office door swings open, and finally, my balding, middle-aged boss strolls into the room, coffee in hand. He gives me a polite smile, teeth bright against his dark-brown skin. “I assume you’re Melanie O’Hanlon?”

I’m not. O’Hanlon was Mom’s maiden name. My real last name is Snow, but I spent a lot of my inheritance on documents to cover that up.

Trying to exude a confidence I don’t feel, I jump to my feet and shake his hand firmly. “Yes, I am. Are you Mr. Greene?”

The man nods. “I’m Tony, but most people here call me Mr. Greene. Welcome to the team. Are you ready for your tour?”

He seems friendly enough. I’ve started to think of Levett employees as bad guys, when really, they’re just people. The suspicion I feel regarding Mom and Dad shouldn’t automatically apply to them. After all, Mom and Dad worked here too.

I return his smile. “Yes, thank you. I’m excited to be here.”

Mr. Greene leads me out of his office and through the back door of the admin building. I had to escape quickly when I signed my new-hire paperwork last week, having spotted Mara’s badge unattended on her desk and pocketing it, so I haven’t had a chance to see the rest of the campus yet. I’m thankful for an innocent reason to scope it out now.

Oh Mylanta, but it’s huge. Way bigger than the one in Coral City.

Several hulking buildings tower around a sweeping, well-manicured quad. Cement paths cut through swaths of lush grass and shade trees. A tall chain-link fence lines the far end of the lawn, the ever-present forest visible just beyond.

As Mr. Greene leads me through the different buildings, he drones on and on about the importance of Levett Tech’s mission: to supply the means for our great country’s defense. Patriotism is displayed everywhere. Big flags wave on bright posters splashed over every wall, and stars and stripes are embroidered into the shirts and jackets of the workers. During my final interview, I got the sense the company took its mission seriously, but to see it in action is next level.

I keep my eyes peeled for documents or records that could relate to Mom and Dad’s accident, and I also look for Tommy, just in case, but we arrive back at the administrative building without my having spotted him or anything helpful. Here, Mr. Greene takes me up a set of stairs, then another, and another. We stop at the top of the staircase, a long industrial hallway stretching out before us. Windows line the left side, doors line the right. The doors are all secured with card readers.

“This whole floor is devoted to recordkeeping,” Mr. Greene says. “Due to the sensitive nature of our work, we choose to keep paper records. It avoids cybersecurity vulnerabilities.”

Mara’s badge is a brand in my pocket.

He indicates the closest card reader. “The first room is accessible with your employee ID card, and houses production schedules, safety plans, nonhazardous material requests, and the like. The others are not accessible, and contain information related to employees, incoming and outgoing shipments, hazardous materials, military contracts, and special projects.”

Bingo. This kind of documentation is exactly what I need.

“All records are destroyed after five years, so in addition to filing and auditing, you will be responsible for shredding the oldest on a monthly basis.”

Shit. My parents’ accident was five years ago this month.

Working to keep my expression courteous, I nod. “Got it. Wow, that’s kind of cool. Will I be handling anything classified?” I hope it’s not too suspicious a question, given filing is part of my job description.

To my disquiet, Mr. Greene’s eyebrows jump up. “Access to sensitive records might seem cool, but they’re a big responsibility and far above your pay grade. That’s why your security clearance only works on the first room.”

My fingers brush Mara’s badge and I smile, aiming to appear neutral while I surreptitiously scan the placards posted on the doors over Mr. Greene’s shoulder. The first room doesn’t contain anything useful, but the next piques my interest. It holds accident reports, shipment and employee records, and hazardous material data sheets.

“Melanie, are you hearing me?”

Heat blooms over my cheeks, and I stare down at my feet. I need to be more careful. “Sorry. Guess I’m getting hungry.”

“Don’t worry about it, kid. I know this is a lot to take in, especially considering you’ve not worked in manufacturing before. This is your first real job, right?”

I peek up, relieved to find him smiling. “Yes. I graduated high school last month.”

No need to mention how far behind I was, having been useless most of my Freshman year. At least I got my diploma in the end.

“High school? You’re younger than I thought. In fact, you’re almost the same age as my Zuri. She’s a rising sophomore at UNH.” He purses his lips. “You didn’t want to go to college?”

Uncomfortable, I scuff my foot against the industrial carpet. I did want to go to college, to study creative writing. I was going to find a school on the West Coast and spend my days scribbling stories and poetry in pretty notebooks by the sea. Dad used to beam with pride when I’d talk about it. He’d be disappointed I chose to do this instead, but my inheritance wasn’t big enough to do both.

“Not everyone has the means to go to school right away, but yes, that is my eventual plan.”

Mr. Greene runs a hand over his shiny pate. “Right. I’m sorry to have … I mean to say … Levett Tech has some excellent scholarship opportunities. I encourage you to check them out. For now, why don’t we break for lunch?”

After a quick trip to Mr. Greene’s office to grab my bag, I’m left on my own in the cafeteria on the first floor. A few other workers lounge around tables or sit alone in booths. I pick at my homemade sandwich, stomach full of jangling nerves. I’ve come three thousand miles and uprooted my entire life to get a look at Levett Tech’s records of my parents’ accident, and they’ll be shredded any day—if they haven’t been already.

This is why the authorities were so slow to close their investigation. They needed to run out some arbitrary clock.

I shift in my seat. What if I sneak upstairs while I’m unattended and take a quick peek around? Sure, it’ll be a fishy thing to do on my first day of work, but those records are my best chance to learn what happened to Mom and Dad.

Chucking my sandwich in the bin, I square my shoulders and march out of the cafeteria. It’s quite literally now or never.

My heart thunders as I climb the stairs and slink down the hall, stopping in front of the room that caught my attention earlier. To my immense relief, I don’t see a soul.

With a glance over my shoulder, I pull out Mara’s badge. Hesitate.

Don’t be a coward.

I scan the card and the lock beeps. Flashes green.

I slip through the door, pulling it closed with a soft click .

Row upon row of shelves tower over me, all loaded with file boxes. The shelves stretch across the center of the room, creating long hallways perpendicular to where I stand by the door. There’s space to navigate around the edges, but the walls are filled with still more shelves, more boxes. Thankfully, they seem to be well labeled.

I follow the stickers for employee records and find a lot of subsections: hiring and firing, performance reviews, projected career tracks, and…

My heart stops.

Incident reports.

I waste no time pulling the oldest box from the shelf. Its contents rattle in my shaking hands.

Thirty-five minutes later, I’m scrambling to clean up the mess I’ve made. In my fervor to find something useful, I’ve thrown documents everywhere. The floor is littered with them. Worse, my lunch break is over, and I haven’t found anything on my parents. It’s like their accident never even happened.

Tears threaten as I shove papers roughly back into boxes. They must’ve shredded the records. What will I?—

Footsteps. Out in the hall.

Fuck.

I drop the documents in my hands and sprint to the back of the room, flinging myself behind the last row of shelves as the steps pause outside the door.

The scan pad beeps, and, through a gap in the boxes, I watch the door swing open. A man in his mid-twenties strolls in and hesitates. Surveys the mess on the floor.

Adrenaline pulses through my system, making me sweat.

Brow furrowed, the man picks up a sheet of paper and starts to read. He picks up another, and another. He checks the dates on the open boxes.

Clearly baffled, he proceeds to clean up my mess, muttering under his breath about being the only one around here who cares about order. When he’s done, he files something in the incoming raw materials section and exits the room. His footsteps fade away down the hall.

My limbs tremble as I crawl out of my hiding spot. A glance at my phone tells me I should’ve been in Mr. Greene’s office five minutes ago, but I can’t help rifling through the newest raw material receipts to see what the man filed away.

It turns out, Levett Tech is purchasing plenty of interesting materials. Many of the files are stamped with warnings. There are myriad hazardous chemicals, parts of all sorts, dangerous explosives, fuels. There’s even a file for something biological in nature that sounds like it was pulled straight out of a spy movie: BioAgent 313.

Cool.

Footsteps tap in the hall again.

What am I doing? Do I want to be caught and fired on my first day?

Carefully, I replace the incoming raw materials box and duck behind the shelves again. This time the footsteps pass without entering. When they’re gone, I leave the room and scurry down to Mr. Greene’s office.

My palms are slick as I knock.

“Come in.”

I push the door open, focusing all my effort on appearing relaxed. I’m not sure I pull it off, but Mr. Greene doesn’t seem to suspect anything strange.

“Sorry, I got lost looking for the bathroom.”

He gives me a tired smile. “No problem. Are you ready to meet Zuri? She’ll be training you on your receptionist duties over the next few weeks.”

Profound relief floods my system. “That sounds great. Is this the Zuri you mentioned upstairs?”

“The same.” Mr. Greene’s smile widens, pride sparkling in his eyes, and suddenly it’s not Mr. Greene but Dad standing there. A giant lump forms in my throat.

I spend the afternoon trailing tall, bright-eyed Zuri as she goes about her workday. She’s bubbly and enthusiastic, and it doesn’t take much on my part to keep her chattering away. Admittedly, I don’t learn much about the job, but I do have a pretty good time.

When five o’clock rolls around, I follow her out to the parking lot and climb into my ‘new’ car. It’s got over 150,000 miles on it, but I can’t spare more of my inheritance than necessary on transportation. Despite the rust spots, mismatched doors, and crank windows, it’s served me well so far.

Turning up the music, I pull out onto the road. Yeah, it’s disappointing I didn’t find any clues on my parents today, but I’ve ruled out the accident reports as a source of information. I’ve avoided suspicion and kept my identity from the others. Mara’s badge works. All I have to do is keep trying.

A huge smile curls across my face as I hit the interstate, a heady mix of accomplishment and anticipation glowing in my heart.

Levett Tech, I’m coming for you.