26. Georgia-May
26
GEORGIA-MAY
My gaze remains locked on the screen, immersed in streams of data, yet I can’t shake off the sudden void. A quick look over my shoulder confirms the worst: Blake is gone. My stalwart companion in this chaos just disappeared. How could he leave like that? Yes, I had my secrets about Cristo, and I made a huge mistake with QEOPA. But he should know that this is when I need him more than ever.
Clayton’s footsteps echo briefly before he, too, exits in pursuit of Blake, leaving the digital battlefield to me, Thomas, and Rob.
Thomas leans closer to the monitor, his voice cutting through the static of my thoughts, “Do you recognize these data streams? They could be the hacker’s signature.”
My fingers fly over the keyboard as I pull up the network’s log. “This code—it triggered a ping back to any previously connected device.” I type rapidly, lines of code scrolling down as I track the pings.
“Surely, these aren’t the same as those European calls we’ve detected before,” Thomas frowns.
“This ping here is to my laptop. Nothing to worry about. This one belonged to Cristo. He warned me about it.” I pause, a chill running down my spine as more lines appear. “And these—these are alien, not just from another part of the world but orchestrated. Some are coming from Europe, and several nodes are from across California. They’re too close for comfort.”
Rob says, “They’re here, and they’re making themselves known.”
Thomas’s phone buzzes, the ringtone cutting sharply through the tense silence of the room. He answers with a curt “Yes,” listens for a moment, then hangs up with a grave nod.
Frantically, I begin to implement a series of diagnostic tests. I tweak the network’s encryption algorithms, initiate a recursive trace to identify any rogue elements, and even deploy a virtual honeypot to bait the intruder. All to no avail. Each attempt meets a dead end, and frustration wells inside me, tears threatening to break free.
“Georgia-May. Stop. Just stop whatever you’re doing,” Thomas instructs.
I brace myself for the worst.
“Take a breath,” he continues, surprisingly caring.
I meet his gaze, bewildered by his calm demeanor in the face of crisis. “I can’t stop, Thomas. Time is of the essence.”
“Hartley Marine’s core systems remain secure. The live network is uncompromised,” Thomas reassures both me and Rob.
Rob exhales a breath of relief, claps Thomas on the shoulder, and grins. “Nice save, buddy,” he says. Then, glancing my way, he adds, “We’ve been through these security scares before. Each one’s a different beast, sure, but hey, this isn’t our first rodeo.”
His smile seems out of place. I wonder how he can remain so composed. He probably wouldn’t be grinning if things were worse.
Thomas makes sure I’m keeping pace with the details. “Your QEOPA system is still in its own bubble. Yes, it was online. That’s how Bertram got a foothold. But it’s cut off from the main networks, and our barriers are holding up just fine. We’re in good shape, but now we’ve got to carefully shut down this malware without triggering further issues and stop these attacks right away.”
My stress eases slightly, but an undeniable search for a moment’s respite with Blake stirs within me. Still, duty calls.
Rob approaches me and says, “Looks like the company you’re trying to escape keeps pulling you back in. But I’ve seen you outsmart them before, and you’ll do it again.”
Bolstered by his confidence in me, a new wave of determination lifts me. I turn back to the terminal. “Let’s reverse the data streams,” I suggest, my mind racing with potential tactics. “We can deploy adaptive algorithms that mimic and then counteract their hacks, turning their own methods against them.”
Energized by the plan, Thomas claps his hands enthusiastically. “Perfect, let’s divide and conquer. I’ll support from this terminal, Georgia-May.” He moves to another workstation, ready to execute our attack with me.
My fingers fly across the keyboard, crafting a sophisticated script that flips their intrusive efforts back on themselves. “Thomas, can we make them believe they’re breaching Hartley’s live system? Maybe they’ll get overconfident and trip.”
Thomas grins, tapping away at his keyboard. “You mean bait them into thinking they’ve hit the jackpot? I think I can muster up enough brainpower for that little trick,” he quips. His tone is light, but the complexity of what he’s programming is anything but simple.
As we sync up our efforts, I call out to Thomas, “Keep an eye on the feedback loops from the spoofed nodes. We need them to believe they’re succeeding.”
“Got it. I’m monitoring their responses in real-time. Let’s see how they like a taste of their own medicine.”
We work tirelessly for hours. Finally, the screens flicker and then stabilize, signaling success.
“We did it!” Thomas exclaims, the relief palpable in his voice.
A triumphant laugh escapes me, though it’s tinged with sadness. As the room erupts in a cautious celebration, Rob, Thomas, and I coming together in a huddle, my heart sinks. It hurts that Blake isn’t here to see this, to share in this moment of vindication. His absence casts a shadow over the joy, reminding me of the personal costs of our digital war.
Sensing my unease, Rob guides me to a secluded office, where he hints that Blake is inside.
Pausing at the slightly ajar door, I hesitate. “Blake?” The space beyond feels too personal, too raw for intrusion.
“Not a good time, Georgia-May,” he replies, his voice strained.
I linger at the threshold, relief and concern mingling in my words. “We’ve secured the system. Everything’s fine now.”
“Everything isn’t fine,” he counters. “Please, can I just have a moment?”
Clayton rises from where he’s been sitting, perhaps after an unresolved conversation. “Go ahead, talk to him,” he says, stepping out to give us space.
“Georgia-May, I need a moment by myself, please,” Blake insists coldly.
That hurts. But I respect his request.
So he chose to distance himself when I was at my most vulnerable, in the middle of a crisis where his support would’ve meant everything. And now he’s pushing me away again, treating me like an afterthought. Not only did I want to hear him say sorry for abandoning me, but I wanted to get things straight about what he accused me of. How could he ever think I fabricated Sebastian’s existence? Or insinuate that Coco was Cristo’s?
Alone in a corridor, the silence allows my pent-up stress to boil over. I rush to the ladies’ room, overwhelmed by nausea. The pressure of Bertram’s attack leaves me reeling, and more than that, the safety I once felt with Blake has vanished, taken by his own hands.
I return to where I left Thomas and Rob. Seeing my distress, the eldest Hartley brother steps forward.
“Rob, take me back to Coco, please,” I quaver.
Rob, the man of few words, gives me a look of disapproval, perhaps conflicted about being drawn into this emotional whirlwind. Yet, he rises to his feet, meeting my gaze, signaling his readiness. He extends his arm toward the door, indicating it’s time to leave this place behind, at least for now. His actions speak of loyalty, a silent vow to stand by me, even when the path I choose isn’t one he would walk himself.