Chapter 28
Alexander
A few hours earlier...
With a stone-cold expression, I look at Simon, who gazes at me inquisitively. "Nothing?"
"Absolutely nothing," he answers.
I lean back in my chair while he continues spreading out his documents. We’re in my living room, and the hacker I hired is reporting that he found nothing incriminating on London.
"I searched through her emails, monitored her phones, looked at all the websites she visited and..." He glances at his business partner Justin, who nods briefly. "...Justin followed her."
"She always went straight home or shopping. No suspicious meetings. Nothing."
"She had the entire weekend before to meet with someone," I speculate.
"True. But she would have had to make contact. I traced her data back three months, then extended it to six, just to be thorough. Nothing."
I lean forward and examine the printouts. Chat logs, website visits. "Not even an attempt to find someone who could use the data?"
"No. She searched for recipes and..." Simon hesitates before tapping on a stack of paper. "Well. Men."
"Men?"
"Forum posts about men acting strangely after one-night stands. She registered and asked questions. She was more concerned with trying to understand some guy named A., cooking, and searching for music, movies, and good books."
I take the forum pages and skim the first few lines.
Yep. She's talking about me. Heartbreak. My boss. What should I do?
"Okay, what about traces of the software?"
"Nothing there either. Whoever has this USB hasn't done anything with it yet. It hasn't been offered on the dark web, nor have any parts of the code been uploaded."
"I didn't expect that." I lean back again. "Keep watching her. Maybe she wants to let the matter cool off—or maybe she’s waiting for the right moment to blackmail me."
"Okay."
The two of them will have work to do for a while longer. I never wanted to resort to such measures, but I had no other choice.
After the two young guys leave, I find myself confronted with a pile of printed pages.
Messages to her best friend about trivial stuff and a few texts with her parents. I skim only briefly—it feels wrong to pry.
What if I’m wrong about her?
I take the forum pages and read the post she wrote more carefully.
In it, she writes quite precisely how she fell in love with her boss, but he broke her heart.
She doesn't understand what happened or what she might have done wrong.
The encouragement from other forum participants is substantial, but there are also accusations that one shouldn't get involved with one's boss.
I lose myself in the messages and also read her responses, that she doesn't know what to do now, even considering quitting so she doesn't have to see me anymore.
I go to the kitchen, make myself some tea, and start pondering. On my phone, new pictures of Stephanie pop up showing her at the pool in her house with the comment: "One last time in a bikini before the belly starts growing."
I put the phone down again and keep brooding. Maybe I really am wrong about London. But then, who stole the drive?
I'm the only one who knows the safe’s combination. Not even my father knows it. And London did have the PIN for my phone to delete the photo, but the safe combination is completely different.
On the one hand, her behavior seems suspicious. On the other, there’s always a reasonable explanation.
I know I still had the USB with the data. No one else entered my office. Just her and Marc. There was no cleaning staff, no other employees.
No—I push away the thought that it could have been Marc. That makes even less sense.
After all, he wants to take my place so I can return to the States. We've known each other for a good twenty years.
No. It must have been London. Perhaps by accident, or she planned it all along to frame Marc.
Maybe she really wants to blackmail me and get her permanent contract that way. Or she’ll pretend she “found” the stick in the trash, hoping I’ll be so grateful that I reward her with the position.
It's late. I should get going now. I check my phone once more and read the message that Matthias Volt sent me.
Soon enough, I’ll see how London reacts when I’m there for the conversation.
An hour later, I arrive at the restaurant and am escorted to a private room by a staff member. Matthias is already waiting for me and raises his whiskey glass in a toast before standing to shake my hand. The employee leaves us so that we can talk in private.
"Thirsty?"
"Of course."
We sit down next to each other, and he pours me a drink so we can toast.
"Are you really not going to hire her?" I ask, glancing at my watch. 8:51. She’s due in nine minutes.
"No. I see a man who’s lost his heart but won’t admit it yet. I won’t interfere."
"Why are you really helping me?"
"It's always good to make connections, maintain them, and build on them. You never know when you might need help. I’ll scratch your back, you scratch mine..." He leans in closer to me: "And let's be honest. You only came here today because you're worried about her."
"Nonsense."
"You're looking out for her. Not because you think she’d actually work for me, but because you’re afraid I might take her home tonight."
"Think what you like. I’m only here to test how serious she is." He's not entirely wrong, but I'm certainly not going to confirm his suspicion. Especially not while he's sitting there with a grinning broadly, raising his glass to me again.
"We could make a bet. What do you think her reaction will be? Will she sit down and coldly conduct the conversation with me while ignoring you? Or will she leave as soon as she sees you?"
"London is tough. She’ll stay."
"Yes, I think so too."
"Then I guess there won’t be a bet," I say, taking a sip.
"Then the only question is who she’ll choose in the end. You or me?" If only I knew.
"She’ll choose you," I say.
"And I believe she’ll stay with you," he replies. "What are we betting on?"
"I don’t believe in betting money."
"Then let’s bet on her," Matthias suggests suddenly. Apparently, he’s not acting purely out of the goodness of his heart—he seems energized by the thought of taking the woman away from me.
"If she chooses you, you can have her. Is that what you mean?" I ask.
"That’s what I had in mind. So?" He brings his glass closer to mine, and we clink.
Alright, London. It’s up to you. If you want to work for him, you belong to him—and I certainly won’t interfere or chase after a woman I’ve known for barely a month.
Women like her are a dime a dozen.
She’s just one of many.
And nothing more.