Chapter 5
The Onyx Security conference room looked nothing like the sleek glass and chrome spaces where I usually took meetings.
Wood paneling covered the walls, probably original from whenever this building went up.
A scarred oak table dominated the center, but the chairs were all high-tech comfortable.
The whole space smelled of coffee and something else I couldn't quite place. Gun oil maybe?
"The video's sophisticated." Jase clicked his laptop, projecting my nightmare onto a sleek screen that had slid down from the ceiling. "Whoever made this has serious resources."
I forced myself to look at it again. There I was, or what looked exactly like me, sitting in my trailer. My voice spewed poison about Marcus, my co-star and friend. Every racist slur imaginable poured from my lips with casual cruelty. My stomach lurched.
A man named Simon Clark leaned back in his chair, gray eyes studying the screen with the intensity of someone who'd analyzed threats for a living.
Which, according to Angelica's hurried introductions, he had.
He was a Former Navy SEAL Lieutenant Commander, now co-owner of Onyx Security with Roan Thatcher, who sat beside him looking equally grim.
Roan was formerly in Marine special operations.
"The lighting's perfect." Roan pointed at the screen. "Shadow placement, reflection in your eyes, even the way your hair moves. This isn't some amateur with FaceApp."
"Obviously." The word came out sharper than I intended.
Angelica squeezed my hand under the table.
“Sorry,” I mumbled.
“No problem. We understand, ma’am.” Roan said. He might have been trying for a comforting smile, but it missed its mark. There was nothing he could do to comfort me about this situation.
"We need someone who understands the tech behind this." Simon pulled out his phone. "Code should have been here by now."
"Code?" I asked.
"My cousin." Jase checked his watch, then frowned. "Wait, what time did I tell him?"
"You said eleven." Simon pulled up something on his phone. "I was copied on the text."
"I thought I said noon." Jase scrolled through his phone. "No, wait. Eleven-thirty?" He showed the screen to Simon. "Damn it."
The door opened. A man entered carrying a travel mug of coffee in one hand and a tablet in the other.
He moved with the kind of controlled awareness I recognized from years of working with military consultants on film sets.
But where the SEALs I'd met carried themselves with obvious confidence, almost swagger, this man seemed to absorb space rather than command it.
He stood maybe six-two, broad shoulders under a plain black Henley that had seen better days.
Brown hair that needed a cut, a beard that suggested he'd stopped caring about regulations.
But it was his eyes that made me shift in my seat.
Light green, almost gray in the fluorescent lighting, taking in everything while revealing nothing.
"You're late." Jase said, but he looked sheepish.
"You said three different times in three different messages." Code held up his phone. "I picked the middle one."
"My bad." Jase actually looked embarrassed. "I've been scattered this morning."
Code took the empty chair across from me. His gaze swept over me once, cataloging, then moved to the projected video. "This the problem?"
"Code, this is Kit Lord, one of Angelica’s best friends." Jase gestured between us. "Kit, this is our cousin, Codell Drakos, call him Code. He spent twenty years in the Army, specialized in cyber operations, just retired as a Lieutenant Colonel three months ago—"
"That's enough background." Code's voice stayed level, but something in it made Jase stop mid-sentence."Right." Jase cleared his throat. "Can you look at the video? Tell us what we're dealing with?"
Code studied the screen for thirty seconds without speaking. Then he stood and walked closer to the projection. His head tilted slightly.
It seemed odd that this big Navy SEAL took direction so easily from his cousin. Just who was this man?"Play it from the start."
Jase restarted the video. My voice filled the room, saying those horrible things. I wanted to cover my ears, run from the room, disappear entirely. Instead, I forced myself to sit still, chin up, like I was enduring a particularly brutal review from the Hollywood Reporter.
"Again." Code hadn't moved. "Quarter speed this time."
The video played in slow motion, making my fake voice sound demonic. Code pulled out his phone and typed something quickly.
"Can you send this file to me?"
"Sure." Jase grabbed his laptop. "What are you seeing?"
"Resolution variance in the subcutaneous mapping." Code returned to his chair but didn't sit. "The deep learning algorithm they used is good. Really good. But there's flutter in the micro-expressions. Watch her left eyebrow at the twelve-second mark."
Everyone leaned forward. The video played again. I saw nothing different.
"There." Code pointed. "The muscle tension doesn't match the emotional context. When someone's genuinely angry enough to use those slurs, specific facial muscles engage. Corrugator supercilii contracts differently. This is mimicking surface movement without understanding the underlying anatomy."
"English please." Roan looked lost. God knew I was. Lost and frustrated.
"It's fake." Code finally sat down again, his attention shifting to me for the first time since he'd entered. "Exceptionally well-made, but fake."
"I know it's fake." My voice cracked. "I never made that phone call. I never said any of those things."
"I know."
The certainty in his voice made me look up. Our eyes met and held.
"How can you know?" I whispered.
"Beyond the technical tells?" He leaned back slightly, coffee mug cradled in both hands. "My cousin wouldn't have brought you here if you were the kind of person who'd say those things. Angelica's an excellent judge of character. Always has been."
Something in my chest loosened. This stranger, this intimidating man who looked like he could kill someone by sheer willpower, believed me. Not because of evidence or alibis, but because his cousin vouched for me.
"Plus," he continued, "whoever made this has been planning for months. The model training alone would take eight to twelve weeks minimum. This isn't civilian. It's professional."
"Professional?" Simon leaned forward.
Code nodded. "Military or intelligence-grade deep fake technology. Not something you can download off the internet. Jase, you mentioned that the extortion side is that Ms. Lord needs to drop out of the film, or this will be released to the public, right?"
His question might have been for Jase, but he was looking straight at me. He’d called me Ms. Lord. Not Kit, not Katherine. The formality felt like distance, like protection. His or mine, I wasn't sure.
“Yep, that’s what this asshole wants,” Jase answered. “Can you trace it?" Jase asked. "Find who made it?"
"Maybe." Code's attention stayed on me. "I'll need access to your devices. Phone, laptop, anything with a camera. They had to get source material somehow."
The thought of him going through my digital life, seeing my texts, my emails, my desperate three AM Google searches to figure out just how bad the fallout would be if the video got out. It wouldn’t be just catastrophic for my career, it would end me. I’d have to disappear.
"Whatever you need."
He nodded once, then turned back to the screen.
The discussion shifted to technical details I barely followed.
Encryption protocols, metadata analysis, digital fingerprinting.
Code spoke in short, precise sentences, answering questions without elaborating.
The SEALs kept trying to draw him out, get more information, but he deflected every attempt with practiced ease.
I found myself studying him while he worked.
The way his hands moved when his fingers flew over his tablet’s keyboard, quick and certain.
The slight furrow between his brows when he concentrated.
How he absently rubbed his thumb along the edge of his coffee mug while thinking.
He looked tired, bone-deep exhausted in a way makeup couldn't hide.
I recognized it. I'd seen it in my mirror after my divorce, after Dad died, after every loss that carved pieces of me away.
Whatever he'd done for twenty years in the Army had left marks. Not visible ones, but the kind that showed in how he held himself apart, always watching, always ready. Jase had said cyber operations, but there were layers underneath that classification he clearly didn't want to discuss.
"I need to set up a secured workspace." Code stood abruptly.
"We have another conference room. Smaller. It's yours." Simon gestured down the hall. "Whatever you need."
Code looked at me again. "I'll need those devices within the hour."
Then he was gone, taking his things and that unsettling intensity with him.
"Well boys, that was fun." Angelica stood, pulling me up with her. "We need to go."
“Dinner at our house tonight?” Jase asked.
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Angelica grinned.
“Where are we going?” I asked as she hustled me out of the door.
"The salon. I want you to meet Bonnie properly."
Right. Normal life. Pretend everything was fine while my world burned down in digital flames.
Outside, the Tennessee humidity hit like a warm, wet blanket. Angelica practically skipped to the red Corvette.
"So." She slid into the driver's seat with a grin that meant trouble.
"So what?"
"Code." She drew out his name in a sing-song voice. "Tall, dark, and brooding. Just your type."
"I don't have a type."
"Please. I've seen your ex-husband and every co-star you've fake-dated for publicity." She started the engine, revving it unnecessarily. "You like them complicated and emotionally unavailable. Code's basically catnip for you."
"He barely looked at me."