Far Beyond Duty

Chapter 1

Anna

I'm about to change the world.

Forever.

And someone wants to kill me for it.

The thought slices through my mind as I meet the stares drilling into me. Twelve board members encircle an elegant mahogany table, each wrapped in tailored suits that probably cost more than what an average person makes in a month.

They're all waiting for me to confirm that our latest innovation isn't just another impossible tech dream.

My throat tightens as I pause before starting the presentation, the taste of mint from my morning tea still lingering on my tongue.

“What you're about to see won't just revolutionize the energy sector. It will change everything. It will rebuild our society from its foundations,” I announce, watching their faces shift from curiosity to surprise… to something else I can't quite name.

On the screen behind me, three-dimensional schematics rotate slowly, revealing the intricate details of the energy system I've been developing. The soft hum of the computer fills the silence.

Clean, cheap. Infinite.

“Beautiful, isn't it?” I breathe, tilting my chin toward the display. “But beauty isn't what makes it special. This system will provide power to every corner of the Earth for a fraction of the current cost. It will level the playing field for developing countries. It will usher in a new era of global prosperity.”

“And cause the ruin of every traditional energy company,” Thorne Bishop cuts in, one of the board's oldest members, leaning forward. His steel-gray hair catches the sunlight, creating an almost ethereal effect. “We're talking hundreds of thousands, maybe millions of lost jobs,” he growls.

“For every job lost in those companies, dozens will be created in others. Think about cheap, unlimited, pollution-free energy…”

“The energy sector won't like this one bit,” he warns, pointing at me with his Mont Blanc pen.

“The energy sector doesn't have to like it,” I counter, my heart racing with conviction. “They'll have to adapt. That's how it's been with every technological revolution throughout history. When cars arrived, horse-carriage manufacturers had to adapt or die. When computers came along, typewriter manufacturers were forced to reinvent themselves. Later, with AI, a large part of the production sectors…”

“That's quite a bold statement.”

“They just need to accept that the time for polluting, expensive energy is over. They're free to find systems that compete with ours,” I conclude.

A murmur ripples through the room. I might be younger than any other board member, but over the years, I've learned to read these reactions. The subtle shifts in posture, the glances, the gestures. Most of them are excited about the potential benefits for our company. They aren't concerned about global development or clean energy, just their bank accounts. Two or three look terrified.

Those are the ones who worry me.

“As I was saying, the core of the entire process is here, in the nucleus and—”

The conference room door bursts open, cutting off my explanation. Marcus McGrath, my head of security, strides in, his face grim.

“Miss Sinclair, I need to speak with you immediately,” he announces, his voice tight.

“I'm in the middle of a board meeting,” I remind him.

“It can't wait.”

I release a long breath of frustration. This isn't like Marcus. He's worked for me for several years and knows better than to interrupt a board session. I open my mouth to protest, but the expression on his face borders on panic.

“Please excuse me for a moment,” I say before leaving the meeting.

In the hallway, Marcus grabs my elbow and leads me to an empty office, away from prying eyes or anyone who might overhear. He hands me his phone, open to my personal email account, and the message on the screen turns my blood to ice.

“This is your final warning, Miss Sinclair. Either abandon the energy project immediately, or you’ll be signing your death warrant. This is not a game.”

“When did this message arrive?” I ask, struggling to keep my voice steady while my heart pounds against my ribs.

“Five minutes ago.”

“How do these people know our plans? Until now, only a very small group has had access to the technology. The press releases have been vague—they could be empty promises to boost the company's stock value. Even the board didn't have full access until this meeting.”

“Either it's preventive, without knowing if our technology advances are viable, or we have a mole.”

“Increase security. We'll talk more after the meeting.”

“No,” he cuts me off.

“It's a board meeting, Marcus,” I remind him.

“The mole could be among those twelve people,” he whispers, his voice barely audible.

“Shit.”

After canceling the meeting for personal reasons, I lock myself in my office and sink into the leather chair behind my desk. I try to breathe deeply, stay calm, but I never saw this coming. When I developed this technology, I wanted to change the world, make it better, more prosperous. I never thought someone would put a price on my head.

I review the latest figures. The prototype seems almost ready. It works. God, it could revolutionize the world as we know it. Open a new era of development for humanity. The mere thought makes the hair on my neck stand up.

And yet, my mind keeps drifting to the threat. Someone wants me dead. Someone with inside access.

And every gaze that lingers on me from that moment makes me shiver.

Night falls, and my nerves are raw, though I hate to admit it.

“I've hired someone to protect you,” Marcus announces as I'm wrapping up my workday.

“I thought that was your job.”

“It is, but we need to increase security. This is serious, and this woman is the best.”

“A woman? I don't need a babysitter,” I protest, rolling my eyes and shaking my head.

“This isn't a request, Anna. She'll be here in twenty minutes.Dakota Martinez. Ex-special forces.She'll pose as your girlfriend to avoid drawing attention and stay by your side.”

“Oh hell no! No way, Marcus. No, no, absolutely not. My life's complicated enough without adding a fake girlfriend to the mix,” I protest, shaking my head with such force my neck hurts.

“They'll try to stop this project at any cost. They won't back down. These aren't empty threats from some lunatic. These people will go to extremes, and we need to keep you alive.”

“Once we present the technology to the public, it can't be stopped,” I sigh, the irony of my words hitting me. “Aren't you being a bit dramatic?”

“Have you seen the latest message?”

I check my phone, and my hands shake.

“Tick tock, Sinclair.” reads the email subject line.

There's an attached photo of me, standing by my office window. I double-check my clothes — they match what I'm wearing in the picture. They took it today.

“If we can take a photo, we can fire a bullet,” the brief message states.

“Twenty minutes, you said? Are you sure she's good?”

“The best,” Marcus nods.

Twenty minutes later, with Swiss precision, my security chief announces my new “girlfriend” is ready to meet me.

During the wait, dozens of images crossed my mind about what this supposed girlfriend might look like. I pictured her in many ways. Never like the Latina beauty waiting in Marcus's office. She's slightly shorter than me, wearing a perfectly tailored black pantsuit that highlights her athletic build. Her hair's pulled back in a ponytail, and her deep brown eyes scan the room like she's already hunting for threats.

“Miss Sinclair,” she greets, extending her hand. “I'm Dakota Martinez.”

“Let's make this clear from the start,” I declare. “You're here because Marcus insisted. I don't want you around. Nothing personal, you understand, right?”

“I never take these things personally, and it doesn't surprise me when my protectees don't want me around. Security chiefs usually hire me. I'm very good at my job,” she states with unmistakable confidence.

“Right, and what's your job? Pretending to be your clients' girlfriend while watching for the boogeyman?”

“My job,” she whispers, stepping too close to me, “is keeping you alive. The girlfriend cover is a first for me, though I admit it's a brilliant idea from your security chief. It'll make everything much easier. No one will question why I spend so much time with you.”

I back away nervously until I bump into my desk.

“You think you can convince people you're my girlfriend and not my bodyguard?”

“What do you think?” she whispers again, placing her hand on my waist, making my entire body react in completely unexpected ways.

“This feels ridiculous,” I complain, though I'm not even sure why I'm so angry.

“What's ridiculous is ignoring the death threats you're receiving. Marcus told me you haven't been able to trace the message's origin.”

“We've examined the metadata,” my security chief explains. “Or rather, the chaos in its metadata. We used advanced traffic tools, and the message was routed through multiple nodes in different countries, each likely a proxy server. Russia, South Africa, Brazil, South Korea. It's a dispersion pattern that erases any trace of its origin. Many of those nodes could even be hacked personal computers.”

“Doesn't sound like an amateur,” my bodyguard states.

“We have top-level IT professionals, and I can assure you this isn't the work of some small-time hacker playing with Tor or commercial VPNs. The node jumps appear random, but there's an unsettling precision in how it conceals the route.”

“The danger is very real, Miss Sinclair,” the ex-military woman says, her voice dropping.

“Anna,” I correct her. “If you're supposed to be my girlfriend, you should use my first name,” I add, starting to believe having a bodyguard by my side might not be such a bad idea.