Promises and Pomegranates by Sav R. Miller

IVERS INTERNATIONAL IS a company for criminals, by criminals.
Who better to help keep illegal activity safe than people who did it and
got away with it?
Based in the seedy shit stain town of King’s Trace, Maine, it’s not a place
I like to frequent. When I can conduct meetings virtually, I do.
Frankly, if they weren’t typically so damn good at their job, and I didn’t
have a personal connection to the owner, I likely wouldn’t still be using them
based on location alone.
Still, I decide to drop by a few weeks after Elena shows back up on the
island, checking in to see if the team’s broken any new ground on the identity
of my blackmailer yet.
I haven’t heard from either of them since before Carmen’s arrest and Rafe
went AWOL, so I can only imagine what’s going on on that front. After
squaring away a meeting with Boyd Kelly, the lead cybersecurity engineer, I
touch down in Portland and make the short drive up to King’s Trace, trying
not to let its darkness pull me in like usual.
There’s a reason I only ever came to town to do a job. An invisible slime
practically coats the small streets, an evil presence haunting every person
who steps inside the city limits.
I don’t stop anywhere on my way in, parking outside Ivers International
and heading inside immediately.
The glossy floors in the lobby look as though they’ve recently been
buffed, and a short-haired receptionist greets me at the front desk, giving me
an elevator key after I confirm my appointment. Walking across the lobby to
where the silver, sliding doors are, I glance around, observing how
disturbingly normal the place seems.
I’m not sure what I was expecting from a security firm, but cubicles and
cushioned bench seats certainly wasn’t it.
Stepping out when the elevator dings on my floor, I immediately tense up
at the emptiness of the top floor. Executive names are listed on a plaque right
above the reception desk, and I can plainly see several doors lining the
hallway, chairs to sit and wait in, and yet... there appears to be no sign of life,
anywhere.
Clearing my throat, I ring the bell sitting on the desk, rocking back on my
heels as I wait.
And wait.
And wait some more.