24. Georgia-May
24
GEORGIA-MAY
Despite my concern about Blake’s plan to get close to Abner Bertram, I’m heartened by Coco’s progress. Buoyed by a few therapy sessions, she’s rapidly catching up with her peers. Thanks to weekly playdates arranged with the Hartley family and Anne’s occasional visits from Santa Fe, my little girl is blossoming. The social interaction, especially with the Hartley children, seems to be key to her progress. Coco has always been a happy baby, yet in the company of her friends, she thrives.
We make it a point to schedule these gatherings on days when most of the Hartleys are free. Today, Clay and Isabelle are off work, so we’re spending the day at their place. Wyatt, the pilot, is also here, helping us with the increasingly boisterous kids.
“Look at Coco go!” Isabelle exclaims, watching the little tyke commandeer every ball in sight. Despite her wobbly legs sending her tumbling to her knees occasionally, she’s owning the game.
I can’t help but smile at the scene, but my attention shifts when Clay and Blake return from their afternoon run, glistening with sweat. I gulp. I’ve never seen my man—or any man, for that matter—so thoroughly marinated in sweat.
Isabelle leans in with a mischievous glint in her eye. “Just between us, a bit of sweat can be quite the aphrodisiac,” she whispers.
I eye Blake’s drenched figure skeptically. While Clay signals his retreat indoors, likely for a much-needed shower, Blake heads straight for me.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he greets, arms open wide for a hug.
I take a step back, and right then, I decide perhaps there is such a thing as too much sweat. “Blake!” My voice pitches high.
His shoulders shake with laughter. “Okay, okay,” he concedes, holding his hands up in surrender, keeping his distance. “I’ll get cleaned up first, then let’s regroup in the conference room. It’s that outbuilding over there.”
“Got it.”
As Blake strolls away, he blows kisses back at me, twirling his soaked singlet through the air to prolong the jest. Turning my attention back to the bustling play area, I catch Wyatt’s eye. “Wyatt, could you keep an eye on the kids for a bit?”
“Sure thing,” Wyatt responds. “Clay mentioned you might need a moment for the get-together. Don’t worry, between Raffi, Matty, and me, we’ve got this covered.”
Soon after, Clayton, Isabelle, Blake, and I gather in the conference room, with Rob and Amber joining us via video call from Hartley Marine HQ.
“So, what’s the plan?” Rob asks, his image coming into focus on the screen, Amber seated beside him.
I begin, “We think we’ve got a formula to preempt Bertram’s next move.” I pause, aware that only Blake and I know the full extent of our earlier brainstorming, which ranged from kidnapping Abner Bertram to removing him from the equation entirely.
Sensing my unease, Blake subtly moves closer and reassuringly places his hand on my arm.
I continue, “The straightforward approach would be a direct assault on his stronghold in London.” I glance at Blake, recalling the numerous pleas I’ve made for him not to go. “However, we’ve devised a smarter strategy. Considering insurance is inherently global, even if operations appear local, we can begin our countermove right here from home.”
Rob and Clay sink into contemplation, the room falling silent for a moment.
Breaking the silence, Blake adds, “Clay, you mentioned hints of Bertram attempting to re-enter the US market. This poses a perfect chance to expose them on our turf. I imagine industry giants like IAG and State Farm are watching closely, likely quite on edge. With the current competitive atmosphere, if we can reveal their misconduct from here, the fallout will have global repercussions.”
Clay turns toward Blake. “Whoa, Blake! Maybe private investigating isn’t quite your calling. When did you master the art of economic warfare?”
Blake flashes a sly grin. “It’s all thanks to having a brilliant strategist by my side.”
I give him a quick squeeze on the arm, then turn to the room. “But we can’t pull this off without you, Rob, Clay.”
Rob, who has been listening intently, speaks with resolve. “Bertram might rule the roost in Europe and the Asia Pacific, but this is our domain, and here, we dictate the rules. I have no doubt we can rally the necessary forces not just to challenge them but to crush them at their own game.”
Then, Amber adds her perspective. “Hartley Marine may not be in the insurance game, and our European operations are small compared to here. But we have a strong client base there. People with significant influence. Given the nature of today’s markets, I’m sure they’d be happy to lend a hand.”
Rob looks at his wife with visible pride. “I couldn’t agree more.”
Clay, visibly impressed by Amber’s insight, says with cool eagerness, “Time to give my old friend Neo a shout.”
“Neo?” I inquire, imagining Keanu Reeves dodging bullets in slow motion as green digits rain down.
Blake chuckles at my expression. “He’s not just anyone—he’s actual royalty.”
“Prince Yiannis-Andreas of Greece,” Isabelle adds. “He and Clay are crazy about basketball. That was how they started their friendship.”
“Ah, a real prince? Well-connected then,” I note.
“Extremely, though somewhat of an enigma,” Clay nods. “The family is savvy at shielding themselves. But Neo and I go way back—he’ll be on board.”
Isabelle has her own idea. “With hospitals and health insurance so intertwined, if I pull the right strings, we can engage the industry’s heavyweights.”
Moved by the initiative, Clayton leans over to plant a kiss on Isabelle’s cheek.
Gratitude swelling within me. “Thank you, everyone. Rob, Clay, Isabelle, and Amber.” Beside me, Blake affirms my sentiment, wrapping his arm around me supportively.
Rob, ready to wrap up, grins. “We’ll regroup tomorrow. Until then, enjoy your day off!” He winks playfully. “Unlike some of us,” he adds before ending the call.
“We’ll nab that scoundrel Bertram,” Clay declares to me and Blake with determination. “For now, it’s time for me to make some calls. And contrary to Rob’s jest, I’m actually on the clock!”
Isabelle, Blake, and I step back outside to join the energetic activity of the children at play. As we absorb the lively scene, Blake nudges me. “I can drive you to the store now if you want?”
“Oh, right. I’ve forgotten already!” I say, grateful for the reminder. Then I assure Isabelle. “I’ll be quick, I promise.” An involuntary touch comes to my face, my fingers brushing against the dry patches of my skin. “I just need to pick up some moisturizer,” I add.
Isabelle nods understandingly. “Georgia-May, you could head off to Baja, and I’d still be perfectly fine! Go on, take your time,” she encourages with a nudge.
“I owe you big time,” I say, and she just waves me off with a smile.
A short drive later, Blake and I stroll through the department store, the familiar scent of polished floors and perfume in the air. I pick up the moisturizer I came for, but Blake’s gaze drifts elsewhere.
“Seems like a bit of a waste to come all this way just for that,” he prods, his tone persuasive as he lifts a hanger holding a lovely blue dress.
My eyes linger on the dress. He’s always chosen navy blue for me. A navy blue pendant and a navy blue bikini, among other things. Perhaps it’s not just the blue he loves, but the way I look in the color. Does it mean anything?
“Go on, try it on,” Blake encourages with a persuasive smile, stopping my analysis.
“All right, let’s see if it’s as stunning on me as it is on the hanger,” I concede.
As I slip into the changing room, I notice Blake answering a call. His back is turned, and I can’t discern the nature of the conversation. Choosing to ignore it, I focus on the quiet of the weekday store. The fitting area is deserted except for me.
Just as I begin to undress, a sudden grip tightens on the curtain. Before I can react, I’m yanked from the stall. A hooded man clamps his hand over my mouth, stifling my cries. The blue dress falls from my grip as I’m dragged to the stock room. He keeps dragging me until we’re hidden behind a stack of boxes. Desperate, I reach up and pull at his hood, revealing his face for the first time.
He seems indifferent now that his face is revealed, and I’m almost certain this isn’t the same hooded figure who had been shadowing me in Denver.
“Mary,” he croaks.
I pause, trying to remember the last time anyone called me that.
“I’m Cristo. Don’t scream.” The British lilt in his voice doesn’t jog my memory, but there’s something oddly familiar about the way he carries himself.
This voice, clear and unaltered, is a far cry from the distorted tones he used in our calls.
His grip loosens gradually, and I take a deep, shaky breath.
“Cristo?” My eyes widen as I stare at him, struck by his youthful appearance. He’s noticeably younger than Sebastian. It’s hard to reconcile this fresh-faced man with the one I knew only as a casual competitor and friend over Saturday night games.
“What the hell are you doing here?” My words spill out, tinged with confusion and a trace of anger. “I thought you wanted nothing to do with me?”
“Indeed,” he admits, his expression unyielding. “But you’re my best mate’s girlfriend, the mother of his daughter. I can’t just stand by while you’re in danger.”
The room feels smaller. “Have you been the one following me in Denver?” I need to be certain.
“No.” He shakes his head emphatically. “Whoever that was, it wasn’t me. Look, just before you left Bertram, Sebastian did something.”
My gut tightens. “What?”
“He planted a program designed to wipe all your work on Project Mock.”
“Really?” Relief washes over me, quickly tainted by sadness.
“But they found a password-protected backup. That’s why those men were—and still are—after you. They want access to that backup.”
“Oh, shit.” So this was why I was attacked at the motel. They were desperate for the password because they’d lost my original codes.
He pauses, his eyes narrowing. “There’s more. Sebastian used another code to subtly corrupt your actuarial program. It was put on a time delay, but that code has been sabotaging Bertram’s live systems. Slowly, methodically, variable by variable, command by command.”
“Oh, Sebastian…” I murmur. He understood the burden of my guilt for creating that program, and we both knew its capabilities.
“A genius, that one,” Cristo continues. “He reduced people’s premiums by mere cents, week by week, and inflated claim payments just as subtly.”
I’m smiling inside. Sebastian’s cunning was nothing short of brilliant, and I wish he were alive. We could have shared this triumph together.
Cristo’s voice lowers. “Now Bertram is catching on. And this is hitting them harder than anything before. They’ve ordered to capture you at any cost. They’ve gone through a load of programmers trying to contain the damage, but they believe only you can fix it.”
“And you’re only telling me this now?”
“I didn’t know how else to contact you!”
I scoff. “They found me in Denver, so my boyfriend took me to California. But I haven’t noticed anything suspicious here so far.”
“It’s only a matter of time. Your code, the one you sold to Hartley Marine?—”
“How the fuck did you find out about that?”
He gives me a look that suggests I should’ve expected this. “There’s a flaw in your code. Or rather, in the code Sebastian used.”
“I didn’t use Sebastian’s code!”
“Think again. That code in its raw form was something Sebastian and I worked on together. It contained some legacy calls that should have been purged. It’s spiraling out of control. Last night, I received pings from a location in California. And God forbid, it might have compromised Sebastian’s program in London—which Bertram would undoubtedly have noticed.”
Cold realization dawns on me. I must have inadvertently incorporated Sebastian’s preliminary code during those frantic hours spent designing the QEOPA system. Memories of that time are now just a hazy blur. “No…no, this can’t be happening. And you’re sure you received those pings last night? Never before?”
“Just last night,” he affirms.
My shoulders slump. Thomas must’ve put the program online, perhaps moving it to the next stage after their initial testing.
Cristo says, “Look, I don’t care about Hartley Marine. They’re more than equipped to handle this, provided you’re upfront with them and lend your assistance. But I don’t know what else you put in your code. I only want to make sure you’re safe.”
“I need to go. I’ve got to warn the Hartleys.” My insides churn erratically, a sharp ache twisting in my chest.
Cristo stops me from leaving. “And I’m here for another reason, Georgia-May.” His tone shifts as he utters my current name, making the air feel denser. “Sebastian was more than just a friend. We grew up together. He was like my big brother—until life pulled me into the underworld.”
I realize he’s alluding to his ‘specialized skills’ in crafting new identities.
He continues. “I vanished from the scene, kept in touch with him only through gaming. And when things got too heated, I moved here.”
“You live in Cali now?”
“Yes,” he replies, a note of triumph in his voice. “They called the USA the promised land back then, and it’s lived up to that promise for me,” he says, suggesting he’s made some significant gains here.
Suddenly, we hear footsteps. Cristo quickly pulls me deeper behind the boxes. A salesperson hurries past, grabbing something, then vanishing as quickly as they appeared.
Once alone again, Cristo leans in closer. “Look, Sebastian was planning to propose well before that night,” he murmurs. “He even asked me to help sort out the ring. Specially crafted for you.”
He offers me a small jewelry box, which undoubtedly holds the ring. Adriano Laurent, a name synonymous with San Francisco’s most exclusive designs. I had always admired his work, and though I once mentioned him to Sebastian, I never seriously imagined this moment.
“I’ve been holding onto this far too long,” he says, thrusting the velvet box into my hand.
Overcome, I clutch it, tears clouding my vision. Cristo’s hand brushes mine as I open it with shaky fingers. The ring inside is breathtaking. I can imagine Sebastian’s attention to detail, ensuring every element was just right.
But this isn’t the moment for nostalgia or to ponder future implications. Resolute, I announce, “I must leave. I have to tell Blake!”
“Tell Blake what?” Blake appears beside us, a darkness in his eyes that I’ve never witnessed before, fierce and foreboding.