“I have to get back,” I said.
He did not follow me to the door, remaining in the booth as I walked out into the cold autumn air.
Back in my apartment, the blue light of the laptop screen cast long, thin shadows across the empty living room. I sat down at the table, my fingers hovering over the keyboard for the final attempt. The silence of the room was absolute, broken only by the hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen.
I thought of Victoria’s designer heels clicking on the hardwood floors of our parents’ home, the way she smiled when my mother criticized my career.
I typed in the name of the boutique Gwen owned, then hit enter.
The screen flashed red, a bold message informing me that the drive was now permanently encrypted and locked after three failed attempts.
