Elara Quinn POV
The door clicked shut behind Marcus, and the sound made Elara flinch.
She stood very still, the flash drive cold in her hand, her heart beating too fast. The room felt smaller now. Too quiet.
Marcus broke the silence first.
"Let's start over," he said smoothly. "I don't think we've been properly introduced."
Elara blinked. "You were hired weeks ago."
He smiled like that was funny. "Formally, I mean."
He stepped closer and held out his hand. "Marcus Chen. Senior event coordinator. Brought in to help this charity reach its full potential."
Elara hesitated before shaking his hand. His grip was firm. Confident.
"I'm Elara Quinn," she said. "Volunteer coordinator."
"Oh, I know," Marcus replied. "Everyone knows you."
That made her chest tighten.
She pulled her hand back and placed the flash drive on the desk. "You didn't answer my question. Did you leave this here?"
Marcus glanced at it, then waved a hand. "Probably just something from IT. These places are always messy."
Elara frowned. She kept things neat. Very neat.
"If you're worried," he added, "I can have someone look at it later."
She nodded, though the uneasy feeling did not leave.
Marcus moved like he owned the space, circling the desk, glancing at papers. "I've reviewed the early numbers," he said. "Impressive work. Truly."
"Thank you," Elara replied. "The volunteers work very hard."
"And you," Marcus said. "You hold this whole thing together."
She shifted. Praise made her uncomfortable.
"I'm here to help," he continued. "To make sure this drive gets the attention it deserves."
Elara crossed her arms. "Attention is not always good."
Marcus laughed softly. "You sound like my grandmother."
She did not smile.
"Listen," he said, lowering his voice. "Visibility brings money. Money brings help. Cameras bring donors. This is how it works now."
"I don't want families to feel like a show," Elara said. "This is about dignity."
Marcus studied her for a moment, like she was a puzzle.
"That's very… pure," he said. "Rare."
The word did not feel like a compliment.
He checked his watch. "Walk with me?"
Elara hesitated, then nodded. Saying no felt rude. And Marcus was the professional.
They moved through the building together. Marcus talked the whole time.
He spoke about sponsors. About media. About growth.
Elara listened, nodding at the right moments, though her thoughts kept drifting back to the flash drive. And the open box from that morning.
"So," Marcus said casually, "how long have you had access to the donation accounts?"
Her steps slowed. "Access?"
"Yes. Logins. Passwords. Approvals." He smiled. "Standard stuff."
"A few years," she said. "Since I became coordinator."
"Just you?" he asked.
"And Carol," Elara replied. "Sometimes accounting."
Marcus hummed thoughtfully. "That's a lot of responsibility for someone so young."
She shrugged. "I've earned it."
"I'm sure you have," he said. "You must be very trusted."
The word trusted echoed in her mind.
They stopped near the exit.
"I should get back to work," Elara said.
"Of course," Marcus replied. "One more thing."
She looked up.
"You work multiple jobs, right?" he asked gently.
Her face warmed. "Yes."
"That must be exhausting."
"It's fine."
"And you live alone?"
Elara's stomach tightened. "Why are you asking?"
Marcus raised his hands. "Just making conversation. I like knowing the people I work with."
She nodded, though something inside her warned her to stop talking.
"I don't have family," she said quietly. "Not really."
Marcus's eyes flickered. Then his smile returned.
"Well," he said, "this place is lucky to have you."
Elara watched him walk away.
She stood there longer than she meant to.
The rest of the day blurred together. Forms. Emails. Smiles she forced. Every time Marcus passed by, she felt watched.
That evening, Elara packed up her bag. The building was empty again.
She glanced at the desk.
The flash drive was gone.
Her breath caught.
She searched the drawers. The trash. Nothing.
Had she imagined it?
She told herself she was tired. Too tired.
Elara locked up and stepped into the cold night. Snow dusted the ground. Christmas lights flickered in nearby windows.
This was her favorite season.
So why did she feel like something bad was coming?
She hugged her coat tighter and headed home.
Inside her small apartment, Elara kicked off her shoes and dropped her bag. She made tea and sat on the couch, staring at the wall.
Marcus's questions replayed in her head.
Access. Trust. Family.
She shook her head. "Stop," she whispered.
He was just doing his job.
Her phone buzzed.
A message from an unknown number.
Can we talk tomorrow?
No name. No context.
Her heart raced.
She typed back, then erased it.
The phone buzzed again.
About the accounts.
Elara's fingers went numb.
She set the phone down and did not reply.
Across town, Marcus Chen sat alone in his car.
The engine was off. The street was quiet.
He pulled out his phone and dialed a number saved without a name.
The call connected.
"Yes," Marcus said, his voice calm and sure. "I met her."
He listened, then smiled.
"She's perfect," he continued. "Trusting. Poor. No family."
He glanced at the community center in his rearview mirror.
"This will be easy."
He ended the call and leaned back, already planning his next move.
And far away, Elara Quinn stared at her silent phone, unaware that the season she loved most was about to turn against her.