Chapter 6 Brenna
brENNA
Forty-five minutes later, Atticus and I met Kodiak at the Sausalito Ferry Terminal café. He sat at a corner table, with his usual grin and a gear bag at his feet, watching tourists board the morning ferry to San Francisco.
“Morning, lovebirds,” he said as we approached. “How’s married life treating you?”
“About as well as you’d expect,” Atticus replied, pulling out my chair.
“You look comfortable enough. Ready for the briefing? Because our three targets have been busy.”
I took my seat while Atticus got coffee for him and tea for me. “What’s the situation?” I asked after he brought our drinks to the table.
Kodiak pulled files up on his tablet, angling the screen so we could both see it. “Morrison’s been asking questions about the ‘new couple’ who recently moved to the Bay Area.”
“That was quick,” I said. “Though not entirely unexpected. When I reached out to him last week as Bronwyn Nolan, expressing interest in West Coast investment opportunities, I mentioned my husband and I were relocating. He must have started his due diligence immediately.”
“He’s thorough,” Kodiak agreed. “Already knows about the house purchase, the asset forfeiture connection, and everything Alice wanted him to find.”
“Which means tonight might be the equivalent of a job interview. Skip the prelims and jump right in,” said Atticus after he sat down beside me.
“Exactly,” Kodiak muttered.
“And if they don’t find us suitable?” I asked.
“Then we’re back to square one. Best case, they realize you’re too good to be true and start digging into your backgrounds. Which will all add up perfectly.”
“They’re airtight?” I asked.
Kodiak raised his eyes and met mine. “You don’t know Alice very well, do you?”
“No, I don’t. So I’d appreciate an answer to my question.”
“Rock solid as they can be. Anyone attempts to hack deeper, she’ll shut ’em down so fast they won’t know what hit ’em.”
“These are some of the best tech people in the world,” I pressed.
Kodiak looked over at Atticus. “You wanna jump in here?”
Atticus leaned against his chair. “You seem to be handling it stellarly,” he deadpanned before turning to me. “What he’s trying to say is Alice could hack into the Pentagon while making breakfast. And where she doesn’t excel, Tex Keegan fills in.”
“I’ve heard of Tex. I mean, I’ve obviously heard of Alice. But not until after she signed on with K19, of course.”
“Which is exactly the point,” Kodiak chimed in. “She knows how to stay hidden. And keep us hidden at the same time.”
“Okay. Let’s move on.”
“Equipment?” Atticus asked as tourists began gathering for the noon ferry.
Kodiak slid the gear bag across the table. “Everything’s tested and ready.” He studied us both. “I’ll be running command from South San Francisco—close enough for rapid response, far enough to maintain separation.”
“Any final questions about tonight’s approach?” I asked.
“Just remember—these people are paranoid. Morrison especially. Don’t try to oversell yourselves.” Kodiak closed his tablet. “You two ready for this?”
“We are.” From a prosecutorial standpoint, tonight would either give us the evidence we needed to build a case or send these criminals underground. Everything hinged on our performance.
The ferry terminal had been perfect for the briefing—public enough to seem casual, busy enough that we blended in with other business meetings. After Kodiak left, we took a car service to the house.
Once there, we spent the next few hours immersed in preparation.
I spread target dossiers across the dining table while Atticus reviewed floor plans of the Rosewood Hotel on his laptop.
We rehearsed responses to hypothetical recruitment approaches and went through every detail of our cover story until we could recite it in our sleep.
By sixteen hundred hours, my head was spinning with details about cryptocurrency laundering and social engineering techniques.
“Time to get ready,” I said, checking my watch. “Event starts at nineteen hundred. We want to arrive fashionably late, but not so late that we miss the initial mingling.”
“Etiquette math,” he said with a grin. “My least favorite kind. Give me explosives calculations any day.”
I ignored his attempt at humor. “We’ll arrive at nineteen-thirty. That will give us time to make an entrance and scope the room.”
I headed upstairs to the walk-in closet and stared at the midnight-blue dress I’d selected—expensive, elegant, the kind of outfit that whispered wealth rather than shouted it.
The fabric felt like liquid silk against my fingers, and when I put it on, it transformed me into someone I barely recognized.
Bronwyn Nolan, venture capitalist. A woman who could move through Silicon Valley’s elite circles like she belonged there.
I spent extra time on my hair and makeup, knowing that every detail mattered. These people were used to reading others, to identifying threats and opportunities with a glance. I had to be flawless.
When I finally emerged from the bathroom, I found Atticus standing by the window. He turned around when he heard my heels on the hardwood, and the look on his face made my breath catch.
“Will I do?” I asked, though the intensity in his gaze already gave me my answer.
“Jesus,” he managed. “You look devastating.”
“That’s the idea.” I reached up to straighten his shirt collar, and my fingers brushed his neck. His pulse jumped under my touch. “You don’t look so bad yourself. Very distinguished venture capitalist husband.”
He’d chosen a charcoal suit with a subtle pinstripe, expensive but not flashy. The kind of outfit that suggested success without trying too hard to prove it. On him, it looked like armor designed to make other men feel inadequate.
“Ready to become Silicon Valley’s newest power couple?” he asked.
“Let’s go make some enemies.”
“Or at least confuse them with our devastating good looks,” he added, offering his arm.
The drive to Menlo Park took less than half an hour, allowing us to run through our story one final time. I sat beside Atticus in the passenger seat of the BMW Kodiak had arranged—another prop in our elaborate performance. Beneath the surface of my calm facade, my nerves were singing with tension.
“Remember,” Atticus said as we pulled into the Rosewood’s circular drive, “we’re not trying to impress them tonight. We’re letting them impress us.”
“Wealthy, connected, and just bored enough to be intrigued by unconventional opportunities.”
Atticus came around to the passenger side after the valet took our keys, and offered his arm.
We walked through the hotel’s lobby like we owned the place. Which, given our cover identities, we probably could have.
The event was being held in the Rosewood’s main ballroom, a space that managed to feel both intimate and grand. Crystal chandeliers cast warm light over clusters of well-dressed individuals, while servers circulated with champagne and hors d’oeuvres—not that I could eat a bite.
I scanned the space as we entered—emergency exits at three and nine o’clock, security cameras in the corners, and men with the bearing of private security stationed around the room.
The usual mix of Silicon Valley players was there.
Everyone we’d been briefed would be. Venture capitalists in their calculated casual wear, startup founders trying too hard to look relaxed, and established tech executives who’d learned that real power dressed quietly.
“Mr. and Mrs. Nolan?” A young woman with a clipboard and a bright smile approached us. “Welcome to the Venture Capital Association mixer. I’m Sarah and can answer any questions you might have.”
“Thanks,” I said, taking a champagne glass from a passing server when Atticus did. “Beautiful venue.”
“Isn’t it? We’re so excited to have you here. I understand you relocated here from DC recently?”
“Just moved,” Atticus confirmed. “Still getting our bearings.”
“You’ll love the community here. Everyone’s so collaborative.” Sarah gestured toward the crowd. “Can I introduce you to some of our other members?”
“That would be wonderful,” I said.
For the next hour, we worked the room. After speaking with several of the other guests, I was about to suggest we mingle elsewhere when someone approached from behind us.
“Mr. and Mrs. Nolan?”
I turned to find a man in his fifties with a polished smile walking over to us. Average height, graying hair, and the sort of unremarkable appearance that would make him hard to remember. The kind of man who could blend into any boardroom or country club.
“I’ve been looking forward to meeting you both. I’m David Morrison,” he said, extending his hand.
I shook it warmly. “How wonderful to finally meet you in person after our email exchanges.”
“The pleasure is mine.” He shook hands with Atticus next. “I understand you’re in venture capital, Mrs. Nolan?”
“Defense technology startups,” I confirmed. “Emerging markets, primarily AI applications.”
“Fascinating field, particularly given the current focus on cybersecurity.” Morrison’s gaze shifted to Atticus. “And, Mr. Nolan, you’re in that space as well?”
“Consulting,” Atticus said.
“Risk assessment, threat mitigation. The usual compliance headaches,” I said, smirking.
“I imagine you two have some interesting dinner conversations about ITAR restrictions and security clearances,” Morrison said with a knowing smile.
His mention of International Traffic in Arms Regulations reminded me of the serious nature of the crimes I believed he and his co-conspirators were committing, and I tensed. “We try to maintain some separation between work and personal life,” I said, moving closer to Atticus.
“Wise policy, though I imagine it’s difficult when your fields overlap so significantly.” Morrison gestured toward a quieter corner of the room. “Would you mind if we found somewhere quieter to chat? I’d love to hear more about your portfolio.”
“Of course,” Atticus said. “Lead the way.”