Page 38 of Craving Venom

Trevor turns to me. “Come on. Let’s go before he changes his mind.”

We step into the elevator, and I finally breathe.

“What’s in the folder?” Trevor asks casually.

“Just a project. Some research I’ve been collecting. It’s for my senior thesis, and I need to fax it to Dr. Harrington,” I lie.

Trevor gives a low whistle. “Damn.”

The elevator dings, and we step out onto a pristine hallway lined with frosted glass doors and silence that feels expensive.Every inch of this floor screams power in pressed suits and polished shoes.

A man in his late twenties waves from one of the offices. “Trevor,” he grins, stepping out. His tie is slightly crooked. “Didn’t know you had friends with academic emergencies.”

“Neither did I,” Trevor says, bumping fists with him. “Faith, this is Will. Will, meet Faith.”

“Nice to meet you.” Will gestures toward his office. “Fax machine’s in the back corner. Knock yourself out.”

“Thanks,” I say. “Actually… is there a restroom I can use first?”

“Yeah, right down the hall. Take a left past the elevators. Last door on the right.”

I nod and slip away, but I don’t go right.

I go up.

The top floor is different. Colder. More still. I walk slowly, almost holding my breath, until I seeChristopher Valehartetched into a polished gold plate on a heavy, dark wooden door.

I glance around, but no one’s in sight, so I reach for the handle only to find it locked. I look across the hall. There’s another office. This has to be his secretary’s space. I slip inside, careful not to let the door click too loudly behind me.

A fax machine rests on a table in the corner. I pull the page from the folder, flatten it out, feed it through. My fingers tremble just slightly as I punch in the number for Veridian Correctional Facility. The machine whirs, processing each line slowly.

The confirmation page spits out, and I snatch it up. I should walk out, thank Will, and go back to pretending I’m not constantly toeing the edge of breaking the law.

Instead, I pick up the receiver.

My heartbeat thuds in my ears as I punch in the number. Each beep feels louder than it should. I can almost feel the heat ofsurveillance bearing down on my back. But no one walks in. The line clicks, then rings.

“Veridian Correctional Facility,” a man answers, bored. “How can I assist you?”

“Hi, yes,” I say, sitting up straighter. “I’m calling on behalf of Christopher Valehart. I need to schedule a callback with inmate Zane Valehart.”

“And you are?”

Shit.

I look around the office and catch the glint of a business card tucked into a crystal holder near the monitor. Clarissa M. Doyle – Executive Assistant to C. Valehart.

“Clarissa Doyle,” I say, reaching for the card and pressing my thumb hard against it. “Executive assistant to Mr. Valehart.”

“Alright, Ms. Doyle. What’s the purpose of the call?”

“It’s a legal matter. I’m not at liberty to discuss details, but Mr. Valehart requested this personally. It’s urgent. I’ve already sent the fax, you should have it on file. The callback needs to happen today.”

Papers shuffle in the background, and he exhales heavily, like I just ruined his plans to do absolutely nothing tonight.

“Zane Valehart doesn’t have this number registered. If Mr. Valehart wants to speak to his son, he needs to submit a formal request through the proper channels.”

“I understand,” I say. “But like I said, it’s urgent. I can let Mr. Valehart know about the registration issue, but in the meantime, could you at least relay the message? Tell Zane his father’s office called. He’ll know what it’s about.”

---