31. Sophie
31
SOPHIE
M y head hurts. It’s two in the morning but I can’t stop now. My eyes dart between the rows of numbers and patterns on the screen, each one more incomprehensible than the last. The file is a labyrinth, and I’m running out of string to find my way out.
But then I see it—an inconsistency I hadn’t noticed before. It’s small but it doesn’t belong. My heart skips a beat, and I lean closer.
I pull up the logs, my fingers flying over the keyboard. The deeper I dig, the more the patterns emerge. I trace the IP addresses through VPNs, my heart pounding as I delve further.
I sit back in my chair, my stomach twisting as the pieces click into place. On the screen in front of me is the unmasked link to a bank account—a personal one.
Funds trickling in, small amounts, carefully disguised, easy to miss. Dripfeeding from the two hundred million, a couple of bucks at a time but soon adding up.
My fingers move automatically, pulling up the account’s details, tracking the trail. The name blinks back at me like a neon sign.
Dimitri.
The air shifts, suddenly heavy, the room colder than it was just moments ago. My chest tightens, a mix of disbelief and dread spreading through me.
Maxim trusted him, relied on him. And now I’m sitting here staring at proof that Dimitri is stealing from him. Not just stealing—betraying him.
He’s the mole. Dragging out the whole decryption process while he empties the money into his own account. Watching me work and throwing up obstacles, making me waste my time.
I groan out loud. I bet he’s working with Evan.
I push back from the desk, the chair creaking under the movement. My hands are trembling, and I press them flat against my thighs to stop the shake. My brain screams at me to look away, to pretend I didn’t just unravel this, but it’s too late. The knowledge is there, clawing at me.
This isn’t just Maxim’s problem now. It’s mine. In this world, knowing something like this is dangerous. But keeping it to myself? Even worse.
I glance at the door, half expecting Maxim to barrel in like he always does, all heat and control and impossible intensity.
Just imagining the fire in his eyes when I tell him this makes my stomach churn harder. Maxim doesn’t forgive, not when it comes to betrayal. And this? This isn’t small.
My notes are scattered across the desk, but I sweep them into a neat pile with shaking hands. The weight of what I’m about to do presses down on me, my legs feeling like they’re stuck in cement as I push myself to stand.
I’m not even a step away from the desk when a knock startles me, sharp and deliberate.
“Hey, it’s Dimitri,” comes the familiar voice from the other side of the door, casual but somehow too light. “Just saw you still had your light on—need anything?”
My blood runs cold. For a split second, I’m frozen. Then I lunge for the laptop, flipping it closed.
“Uh—yeah, one second!” I call, my voice pitching higher than I mean it to.
I straighten, trying to steady my breathing as I cross to the door. My hand hesitates on the handle for just a moment before I pull it open.
Dimitri stands there, the same cocky smirk on his face that’s always annoyed me. His hoodie is pulled low over his brow, and his dark eyes flick past me, scanning the room. It’s subtle, but I catch it.
“Everything okay?” he asks, leaning casually against the doorframe.
“Fine,” I say quickly. “Just working on stuff.”
“Sure,” he says, drawing the word out as he straightens. “Thought I’d check on you. It’s not exactly a walk in the park decoding something that sophisticated, is it?”
“No,” I say carefully, watching him. “It’s not.”
He doesn’t move, doesn’t even blink. Something about the way he’s looking at me puts me on edge, like he’s sizing me up. “Look,” he says, lowering his voice slightly. “Between you and me? I don’t think you’re gonna crack that thing. Not in thirty days. Not in thirty years.”
I bristle, but before I can snap at him, he holds up a hand. “Relax. I’m not saying you’re not good. You are. But that file? It’s a dead end. And you know what happens when Maxim doesn’t get what he wants. You become nothing but dead weight.”
My chest tightens, the weight of his words settling like a stone in my gut. “What’s your point, Dimitri?”
He leans closer, his voice dropping even further. “I can help you get out of this before he kills you. New identity, new life. You disappear, Maxim never finds you, Federico never finds you. Clean slate. I’ve got some money put by. I can front you for a plane ticket somewhere far away.”
My heart skips, and I’m suddenly hyperaware of the small distance between us, the shiftiness in his gaze even as he smiles like he’s offering me a lifeline.
“I’ll think about it,” I manage, my voice unsteady.
“Good,” he says, stepping back with that same cocky ease. “But don’t take too long. I’d hate to see something happen to you.”
I watch him go, my stomach churning until he’s out of sight.
Part of me thinks I should take his deal, get out of here before this world swallows me up and spits me out.
I walk out of my bedroom. To the left is Dimitri and his offer. To the right, Maxim’s bedroom.
I take the right.
A minute later, I knock on Maxim’s bedroom door, the sound echoing in the quiet hallway. He doesn’t answer, but I know he’s inside.
I take a deep breath and push the door open. The room is just as intimidating as all the others—dark wood paneling, bookshelves that look more decorative than functional, and Maxim, not in bed, seated at a massive desk, back to me, phone to his ear.
“You’re interrupting a call,” he says flatly, spinning in his chair to face me, hand over the mouthpiece. “This better be important.”
I hold up my notes like a peace offering. “I found something.”
His expression doesn’t change, but I catch the slight twitch in his jaw. “I’ll call you back,” he says before hanging up the phone.
He gestures for me to come closer, and I cross the room, my hands shaking just enough to make me glad I’m holding the papers—they give me something to focus on.
I set them on the desk, flipping through to the section that lays it all out. “Here. These anomalies in the file—they aren’t random. Someone’s been tampering with it, deliberately shifting parameters to slow me down.”
He picks up the page, his eyes scanning it quickly. “Go on.”
“It’s internal. Someone with access to your systems has been siphoning funds and covering their tracks.”
“I don’t need details. Just give me a name.”
“Dimitri.”
He looks up at me, eyes narrowing. “You’re certain?”
“His fingerprints are all over this. I’ve got the bank account the money went to, opened in his name. Plus he just offered to help me get out of here and disappear, presumably worried I might figure it all out.”
For a moment, the room is so quiet I can hear my own breathing. Maxim leans back in his chair, his fingers steepled in front of him. His silence feels heavier than any words, and I find myself wishing he’d yell or rage—anything but this unsettling calm.
He picks up the phone and hits a button. “Nikolai,” he says down the line. “Bring Dimitri to the basement. Now.”