Crime and Cashmere

Amanda Burnet stepped out of the taxi; the evening air was thick with the scent of car exhaust and fried street food. She adjusted her bag over her shoulder, and looked up at the towering Abibba Building, its glass windows shining under the city lights.

"Another long night," she muttered to herself, sighing.

Abibba wasn't just any building; it was the financial hub of New Haven. Banks, insurance companies, and high-end businesses filled its floors. Security was tight, and as one of the key custodians, Amanda's job was important.

She walked through the entrance, nodding at the security guard stationed by the metal detectors. "Evening, Joseph."

Joseph gave her a tired smile. "Evening, Amanda. Ready for another shift?"

She chuckled. "As ready as I'll ever be."

She passed through the checkpoint and made her way to the security office. The hallway buzzed with activity; workers leaving, others settling in for the night shifts. Phones rang, printers hummed, and a little noise of people discussing different topics filled the air.

At her desk, Amanda dropped her bag and sat down. Her monitors lit up with live feeds from the building's security cameras; hallways, offices, parking lots. Everything looked normal.

She reached for the key box, checking that all safes were accounted for. Only a few high-ranking officials had access to them, but she was the one who kept the master keys locked away.

"Hey, Amanda," came a voice behind her. It was Brian, one of the junior security officers. "Think we'll get an easy night?"

Amanda smirked, tapping the monitor. "If only. But something always happens."

Brian laughed. "Yeah, but let's hope tonight is boring."

She nodded, turning back to her screens. Everything was quiet and smooth, maybe just for now.

Amanda's fingers hovered over the keyboard, eyes scanning the security monitors. The hallways were empty. The offices were quiet. She took a deep breath, and murmured something to herself.

And then, a very low noise filled the air.

Amanda barely noticed it at first, just a little hum from the monitors. But then it crackled.

The sound sharpened, like tiny electric sparks were crawling through the wires.

The screens flickered, the images twisting into disconnected lines before turning black and white.

Her stomach tightened. "What the hell...?"

Before she could react, the door flew open, slamming against the wall. Heavy boots stormed in. Shadows rushed through the room.

Six men, dressed in all black, faces hidden behind ski masks. Each mask was marked with bold white letters of MZ.

Guns gleamed under the fluorescent lights.

"Nobody move! Hands up!" one of them barked, his voice was sharp, and commanding.

Amanda's felt like she had stopped breathing. Around her, her colleagues froze, eyes widened, their hands trembling as they slowly raised them. Someone whimpered. Someone else choked on a sob.

Two of the masked men walked toward Amanda's desk, their eyes locked on her.

"You," the taller one said, pointing his gun straight at her chest. "The keys. Now."

Amanda's body went cold. Her pulse pounded in her ears. She knew better than to argue. With shaky hands, she reached for the drawer, her fingers fumbling as she pulled it open.

"Hurry up," the second man snapped with a sharp voice.

She swallowed hard, and her throat went dry. Her hands trembled as she pulled out the master keys. "P-please don't hurt anyone," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

The taller mobster snatched the keys from her hand. He scoffed. "Stay quiet, and no one gets hurt."

Without hesitation, he tossed the keys to another man, who caught them with ease and turned toward the safes. He moved quickly without turning around, like he already knew exactly where he was going.

Amanda's breath came in short gasps as she watched them. How do they know? She asked herself and wondered if the mobsters knew her as she was the one who kept the keys to the safes.

The safe doors clicked open within minutes. The mobsters worked fast, stuffing bundles of cash into large duffel bags.

The sound of siren was heard a little at first, and then louder as they were getting closer.

"Cops!" one of the mobsters snarled.

Chaos erupted. The men snapped their heads toward the door, they moved backward quickly, their guns still pointed at the civilians.

"Grab what you can...we need to go!"

One of them, a shorter figure with twitchy hands, grabbed a lighter from his pocket.

"What the hell are you doing?" another hissed.

"Covering tracks," the man muttered. With a flick, he set fire to a pile of papers and folders stacked on a nearby desk.

Flames leaped, licking up the dry paper, swallowing the documents in seconds. Smoke curled into the air and screams of panic were heard.

People rushed for the exits as fire spread rapidly across the room, climbing up the curtains, crackling over desks.

The mobsters rushed out, disappearing into the smoke-filled corridors, leaving nothing but destruction behind.

The sirens blared louder, and within moments, police cars screeched to a stop outside. Officers stormed in, and they draw out their guns, shouting for everyone to get down.

Detective James Willard stepped forward, his sharp eyes scanning the chaos. He spotted Amanda sitting outside, frozen, her hands still trembling.

He crouched beside her. "Miss, are you alright?"

Amanda opened her mouth, but no words came out.

"Can you tell me what happened?" Willard pressed gently.

Amanda blinked, her vision blurry with fear. Her lips quivered. "I don't..."