The door closes behind him. Minutes, I have only minutes.

Not enough time. Think, Chelsea. Think.

Right, there is no longer anything for me here. I won’t be able to come back to this job, or this life again. This is the moment I’ve always dreaded, and it’s just as fearful as it is in my dreams. When you’re a thief, you live on that gleaming knife edge. When you’re a thief, you’ve planned your escape.

I pull the bug-out bag from my bottom drawer. The idea came from an article I read written by an ex-Navy Seal. He always had a bug-out bag filled with the essentials he would need on a moment’s notice. Grab your bug-out bag and go. Mine doesn’t include ammo and an automatic with silencer. Mine is simpler, more civilian. It has a fake passport, a burner phone, and credit cards with my fake name on it.

I’ve disappeared before. I can do it again.

From the canvas bag, I pull out a pair of faded blue jeans, the type of nondescript hoodie worn by your average convenience store robber, and a pair of running shoes. Transformations come in many sizes and hues. I slip out of my clothes and heels quickly and get into my escape gear. I try to do up the laces, but my hands are shaking so much, I end up tucking them into the sides of my shoes. I remove the crab clip that’s been holding up my long brown hair, and the silky strands cascade down my face and shoulders. Pinning up my hair, I grab the dirty-blonde wig and fit it on my head.

I stuff my suit, blouse, and purse into the bug-out bag, and sling it over my shoulder. Slide on a pair of sunglasses, and look around my office. All the photos of my ‘significant other’ are fake. I take one last look at the little plant I have so lovingly watered. Like everything in my life it is expendable. Let it go, I tell myself. I will get another plant. Exactly like this. Somebody else will take care of this one.

I can go now. There is not one person I need to say goodbye to. There is nothing left here for me. There never was.

I open the door to quickly check the hallway. There’s no one around so I step outside and close the door behind me. Hanging my head down, I walk as fast as I can towards the elevator. I call it and keep my head down. Karen from Audit passes behind me, but in my wig and hoodie disguise, she doesn’t give me a second glance. The elevator arrives and I walk inside. The doors swish shut and I am alone.

As the elevator makes its quick descent to the ground floor, I pull a stick of gum from my bag and stuff it into my mouth to complete my image. I’m a full 180 degrees away from the uptight accountant I was just minutes ago.

Now, I’m the girl with a tax problem because I never reported the tips I got while working at the diner. Like the government needs my paltry dimes. I try to remember the twang I should use if someone asks me a question.

The doors open with a ping.

As I step off the elevator, I spot the two large suited men by the entrance. I’ll be damned if I get this far only to be caught by a pair of goons. Even after two years I recognize them. They are his men. They’ve been sent here to keep an eye on me in case I do exactly what I’m attempting to do now. Fortunately for me, they’re looking for a dark-haired accountant in a conservative dark suit so, I have the advantage. I spotted them first so I drop my head and take a left.

Rule two of a bug out—always have an alternative escape route.

I move with a nonchalant gait towards the back entrance. I make it seem as if it is the most normal thing for a hoodie to belong in that polished space. By a fluke of luck, I just narrowly manage not to run head-on into Sienna, one of the secretaries. A wig and a hoodie would not have fooled her. I drop down and pretend to fiddle with my shoes until she passes.

Pumped up with adrenaline, I get across the lobby and start walking towards the janitor’s room. If anyone recognizes me here it is not too dire. I’m good friends with all the cleaners. But I meet no one. Ahead is the door into the alleyway. I’m so close I can almost taste freedom. My heart is beating like an African drum as I open the door.

I can’t believe it.

I’m out!

Then …

Two massive men in dark suits appear at the end of the alleyway. They plant their feet shoulder-width apart and keep their arms relaxed by their sides of their bodies. Without any expression they stare at me. Why do these types always wear sunglasses?

I know I can run faster than them so I spin around and get ready to run like the criminal I am, but a black stretch limo rounds the corner slowly like an ocean liner. Long, blacked out, it’s the equivalent of a hearse, and for me, it means a fate worse than death. My heart sinks. I cannot spend three months with the man. It broke my heart to steal from him. It will torture me to be with him.

I stare at the car stupidly as it comes to a smooth stop a few yards in front of me. It’s so brand new it almost doesn’t look real. His driver gets out and without looking at me goes to open the rear door. Then he stands next to it expectantly, saying nothing, just waiting.

What choice do I have but to brazen this thing out?

There will be other escape opportunities, I tell myself. I take a tentative step towards the car. My mind is a big fat blank. There is not one coherent thought in it. I walk slowly to try to stall for as long as I can. The closer I get to the car the more desperate I become. Like a trapped rat clawing and biting at the steel cage.

I reach the open door and pause. Only the lower half of him is visible. I note his trousers and his shoes. The best wool, the best tailor, the best leather. Other than the perfectly sharp middle creases on his trousers there is not a single mark or wrinkle on them. His shoes shine like a mirror. It is just like looking at an airbrushed picture in a glossy magazine. Unreal.

None of this is real.

It can’t be.

With my heart crashing in my chest, I lean down. This is my moment of truth.

“Get in,” he says curtly.