Oliver ran as fast as he could. If he kept up the pace, he was sure he could reach one of the safe houses by nightfall.

Something smeared along the handle of the briefcase was making it slippery. He switched hands and smelled the right one. Nothing. He swiped the tip of his tongue with the edge of his index finger. Butter. The briefcase handle was covered in butter. Oliver shook his head and tried to wipe it off with the hem of his shirt. He knew he had made a mistake as soon as his shoe caught on a crack in the sidewalk. He stumbled and the handle slipped out of his hands like a greased pig, sending the briefcase flying through the air.

It sprang open as soon as it hit the ground, filling the air with loose papers. Oliver cursed and tried to grab as many as he could, stuffing them into whatever pocket was closest. He wasn’t sure which document could clear his name but knew he didn’t have time to retrieve them all.

Sirens wailed in the distance. Oliver bolted in terror, leaving the briefcase in the street.