My Boss Fired Me in Front of Everyone - Nine Minutes Later, Someone Used My Name to Reroute $28 Million in Cargo

My sister was alive.

The car crash that shattered our family seven years ago, the closed-casket funeral, the tears my father shed at the cemetery—it was all a monstrous lie.

I stared at the screen as the Amtrak train rattled through the dark Michigan countryside. The medical file showed Chloe was currently twenty-two years old, living under the alias "Maya Vance" in a secure safehouse in downtown Detroit. Her blood type was a rare O-negative chimera strain. The exact genetic profile a billionaire buyer in Montreal was paying eighty million dollars to harvest.

My father hadn't faked his paralysis just to hide from Arthur Harrison. He had faked it to hide from the shame of selling his own youngest daughter to a black-market organ syndicate to seed his criminal empire. And now, Arthur was tying up loose ends by cashing her in.

The train pulled into the Detroit station at 9:00 PM.

I bought a burner phone with cash at the terminal and hailed a cab to the address listed in Chloe’s file. It was a derelict warehouse district on the edge of the river.

I approached the rusted steel door of Warehouse 4. The rain was coming down in sheets. I pulled a heavy iron pipe from the gutter, gripped it tight, and picked the cheap deadbolt with a hairpin.

The warehouse was dark, smelling of ozone and wet concrete.

“Chloe?” I whispered into the darkness.

A sudden, blinding spotlight snapped on from the catwalk above, pinning me in a circle of white light.

I raised my arm to shield my eyes.

Standing on the metal stairs, holding a tactical crossbow aimed directly at my chest, was my little sister. But she didn't look like the sweet, innocent girl from my memories. Her arms were covered in ink, her eyes were cold and hollow, and she moved with the silent, lethal grace of a trained killer.

“Drop the pipe, Emily,” Chloe said, her voice completely devoid of emotion.

“Chloe... my God, it’s you. You’re alive,” I sobbed, dropping the pipe. It clanged loudly against the concrete. “I came to save you! Arthur’s ghost trucks are coming for you tonight!”

Chloe slowly descended the stairs, keeping the crossbow aimed at my heart.

“I know the trucks are coming, Em,” Chloe said softly. “Because I called them.”

I froze. “What?”

“I’m not a target, Emily,” Chloe smiled, a dark, twisted expression that looked exactly like our father's. “I’m the buyer’s broker. I’m the one running the Detroit loading docks for Arthur. And you just brought the Montreal server keys right to my front door.”

From the shadows behind me, heavy footsteps echoed across the floor.

I spun around.

Standing in the doorway, covered in concrete dust and blood, half his face badly burned from the locker explosion, was Julian Rossi.

He racked the slide of his pistol, pointing it at the back of my head.

“You’re a hard woman to kill, Emily,” Julian rasped. “But I told you... we need that drive.”

Before Julian could pull the trigger, the massive bay doors of the warehouse suddenly exploded inward, ripped completely off their tracks by the steel grill of a massive, armored Harrison Logistics eighteen-wheeler.

The next chapters are on the left side of your screen.