Chapter 3 – Iris
I hadn’t left the house since the computer “glitch” last night, and I couldn’t stop worrying about what I found in those files.
I barely slept because I kept waking to even the faintest noise outside my apartment.
A myriad of thoughts filled my head, and the more I dwelled on them, the more my anxiety spiked.
Maybe this was all just me being needlessly paranoid. Maybe the frozen computer screen meant nothing. Maybe it was indeed some kind of glitch.
There was no way simply accessing those files set off an alarm to those who actually encrypted it. Right? It wasn’t like whoever was manually deleting records from Tarasov Imports had pinned my location or anything. Right?
These uncertainties unsettled me in ways that made me feel sick. And to make matters worse, my supervisor wasn’t returning any of my calls.
I’d reported the corrupted files earlier today. In fact, it was the first thing I did this morning. I sent him a clean summary, careful with my wording, while still hinting at what I believed was connected to money laundering.
He hadn’t responded yet.
I’d sent that email at six in the morning. It was already eight p.m., and still no word from him. His silence was killing me, making me second-guess my decision to draft that email in the first place. Did he know about this?
Was he quiet because I’d found out about something I shouldn’t have, or because agents from Tarasov Imports had reached him? The more I thought about this situation, the more unanswered questions popped up in my head. It felt like I was losing my goddamn mind.
I’d been too afraid to leave the house, too paranoid to relax. Every movement outside my apartment seemed suspicious, and I treated each one as such.
I headed to the window in my living room after the neighbor’s dog began barking viciously. Through the blinds, I noticed a black SUV parked across the street. It looked sleek and luxurious, with tinted windows.
No offense, but nobody in this neighborhood was rich enough to afford a ride that expensive. It was probably just someone visiting a friend, a colleague, or a family member.
Right?
But why was the vehicle parked directly across from my apartment? And what in heaven’s name was that dog barking at?
At that instant, my email pinged with a login alert. I hesitated before closing the window and heading back to my workspace. That’s when I noticed someone was trying to access my email from another device and from a location that wasn’t mine.
I sat in my chair and immediately changed my password, my hands trembling and my heart racing.
Who was trying to get access to my email? And why now? Coincidence? I didn’t think so.
I leaned back in my chair, trying to calm myself, when I heard something move outside my window. My head snapped toward the sound, and before I could stop myself, I was already on my feet.
Cautiously, I walked to the window and looked outside. There was nothing out of the ordinary. The black SUV was still parked in the same spot. The streetlights flickered, casting long shadows across the pavement.
Moose, the neighbor’s dog, had stopped barking by now, but something still felt off.
I was deep in my own thoughts when a knock on my door yanked me back to the present. My heart skipped a beat before sinking into my stomach.
My breath caught in my throat and my pulse quickened as I looked toward my front door.
Another knock. Slow. Deliberate, as though whoever was on the other side had all the time in the world.
My eyes shifted to the wall clock. It was almost 8:30 p.m. The night was still too young for anything bad to happen to me. At least that’s what I told myself to try and calm my nerves.
But who could it be? I wasn’t expecting anyone today, let alone at this hour. Part of me thought it might be Eve. Dropping by unannounced was a stunt she’d pulled before.
However, Eve would never knock softly on my door. She’d bang loudly while calling out my name after attempting to barge in without knocking.
Whoever was behind that door was definitely not Evelyn Carter.
Maybe it was a neighbor.
Maybe. Maybe not.
I made my way to the kitchen and grabbed a knife. I hid it behind my back and cautiously began walking toward the door. Something told me to ignore whoever was knocking; they’d leave if I didn’t respond.
That sounded like a good plan. But I needed to know who was knocking on my door at this time.
The voice came again: Curiosity kills the cat, Iris. Please don’t answer the door.
I swallowed hard, slowly reaching for the knob with trembling hands.
Check the peephole, said another voice.
I did.
There was a man outside, tall enough that I had to tilt my head to see his face. Dark clothes. Dark brown hair.
He wasn’t fidgeting, wasn’t checking his phone, and wasn’t doing any of the small, restless things people do while they wait.
This man stood completely still, hands loose at his sides, as if he already knew I was on the other side of the door, watching him.
That unsettled me.
I didn’t know this man. I had never seen him before in my life. So what was a complete stranger doing at my doorstep at 8:30 in the evening?
My grip tightened around the hilt of the knife behind my back as I reached to open the door halfway.
“Can I help you?” I kept my voice flat, eyes scanning the area around him.
“As a matter of fact, you can,” he said, calm and composed. “My name is Ilya, and I’d like to speak with you about something important.”
His voice was menacing yet soothing at the same time. How was that even possible?
“Something important?” I raised my brows, a hint of surprise flashing in my eyes.
“Yes.”
He said it so casually, like walking up to a stranger’s porch and asking to speak with them about “something important” at almost nine p.m. was a normal thing to do.
“Listen, I don’t know who you are or what your deal is, but I’m not interested.” I tried to close the door.
“I’d like to speak with you about the files you accessed on your computer last night,” he said plainly, without raising his voice.
The words landed heavily on my chest, and my breath caught for a moment. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He stared right into my eyes as though he could see into my soul. “I just wanna talk…Iris.”
He knows my name.
He knows about the files.
Oh my God!
Who’s this man?
What does he want with me?
Panic had completely taken over, and I was only pretending to be unfazed by this strange encounter.
“Now that I have your attention,” he said. “Can we talk?”
I swallowed. “You expect me to let a complete stranger into my home at this time of night?”
Silence.
“What if you’re a serial killer? What if you try to hurt me?”
“Then you can use that knife you’re holding behind your back.”
What the hell? How did he know about the knife?
I hesitated, contemplating my next move. I thought about slamming the door in his face and rushing to call 911, or maybe even alerting the neighbors.
This man didn’t move, and he didn’t take his eyes off me either. It seemed like he’d already anticipated every move I’d possibly make and was fully prepared for it. That made him dangerous.
His steel-blue eyes and tousled dark brown hair accentuated his ruggedness, meaning I had to be smart in my dealings with him. His cologne smelled expensive, and even the fabric of his black outfit looked like it cost an arm and a leg.
The top three buttons of his black shirt were undone, revealing tattoos on his chest. The shirt was neatly tucked into his tailored black pants, and his black shoes were polished to a shine.
His outfit and ruggedness exuded an air of confidence and power, the kind that announced him as a man who didn’t take rejection well.
There was no telling what he’d do if I refused to let him in. Honestly, I didn’t want to find out.
Slowly, I stepped back from the door, and he walked inside, his shoes clicking rhythmically on the wooden floor. I didn’t lock the door behind him. No. I left it open, just in case I’d need to run out of my apartment if things went south.
His eyes moved once across the room, like he was weighing all of it in under two seconds.
Up close, he was even more intimidating. A faint scar cut through one eyebrow toward his jaw, old and pale. His sleeves were neatly rolled up, and when he looked at me, his gaze was cold.
“Sit,” he said, as though he owned the place and I was the visitor.
Some nerve he’s got there.
“I’d rather stand.” I managed to sound confident. “You said you wanted to talk. Now start talking before I call the cops.” My grip tightened on the knife’s plastic hilt.
“You accessed encrypted records last night,” he said, his cold, steel-blue eyes locked on me. “I want to know what you did with them.”
Oh my God, this is getting real!
I looked away. “I didn’t do anything. I only did my job.”
“And what’s that?” he asked. “Your job?”
“Digital reputation management and data recovery,” I replied. “I organize damaged systems and quietly trace inconsistencies without escalating panic.”
“You do backend cleanup, essentially.”
“Yes.”
A pause. “Did you download those files?”
My heart pounded loudly against my chest, and my knees felt too weak to support my weight.
“Did you report what you found to anyone?”
It took me a moment to answer. “No.”
His eyes squinted by a fraction. “You’re lying.”
“I’m not…”
“The side of your mouth twitches when you lie,” he said, confident in his assumption. “You’ve done that twice already since you answered the door.”
I wasn’t sure which was more disturbing: that he’d caught my lies or that he could already read me like an open book.
“Let’s try this again,” he said, drawing closer.
“Stay back.” I held the knife in front of me as I slowly backed away.
He didn’t flinch. “Did you download the files or report what you found to anyone?”
I stretched out my hand, gripping the knife tightly. “I said stay back.”
Before I could even form my next thought, he seized my wrist, effortlessly plucking the weapon from my fist.
My heart skipped a beat as I looked up into those cold eyes staring down at me.
“Answer me.” He didn’t raise his voice.
I swallowed, trying to pull myself free from his grip. “Yes.”
“That’s oddly vague. Explain.”
A beat.
“I copied a few files. For proof.”
“And?”
“And I reported it to my supervisor.”
“What did you tell him?”
Another pause.
“Nothing specific. Just the inconsistencies I found. That’s all. I promise.” My lips were quivering in fear, and my legs were shaking beneath me.
He didn’t say anything else; instead, he let go of my wrist, his imposing frame towering over me.
And that was when the pieces I’d been avoiding all night finally slid into place, one after another, too fast to stop.
The shell corporations. The businessman who kept paying bills eleven days after his own funeral. The wiped employee files. Asset removal, six times, next to names, dates, and locations.
Whoever this man was, he was definitely connected to these crimes.
“You’re gonna kill me, aren’t you?” I asked before I could stop myself. “Like you killed the man from Italy?”
His expression remained unchanged, his eyes never leaving mine. One of his hands rose, slow and deliberate, stopping just short of my throat, close enough that I felt the warmth of his skin without his touch.
I stared at that hand and, with total clarity, understood that if he wanted to close the distance the rest of the way, there was nothing in this apartment or in me that could stop him.
I waited for it. My whole body braced for it.
It didn’t come.
His hand hovered there a second longer, then dropped back to his side as if he’d caught himself doing something he hadn’t decided to do.
He didn’t move. He stayed exactly where he was, close enough that I could clearly see the scar by his jaw, close enough to be intoxicated by the scent of his cologne.
He studied my face as if deciding what to do with me.
“Careful,” he said quietly. “Questions like that get people killed.”
My voice came out smaller than I’d meant it to. “Is that a threat?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he curled his lips into a mischievous grin.