Bury The Evidence, a five minute freewrite

"Bury the evidence," he said, turning to leave.

"But..." I began. He swung round, his face was red, angry.

"But, what," he spat. Unable to hold his gaze, I looked away.

"Nothing," I mumbled.

"Get it done," he said, the door ending the conversation with a bang.

I sat at the desk, the offending file in my hand. What to do? I needed the job. Hell, I needed to stay alive. Who was to say what he would do to me if he knew what I was contemplating. To leak or to do as he requested, that was the question.

My life, my job, versus doing what was right.

I thought about my brother: my poor Jeff. What would he think of me? Even hesitating over this question.

Follow your heart. I could almost hear the words whispered into my ear.

Don't be an idiot. The voice of my father, always a man to choose the route that would make things easier, or more profitable for him.

...