Chapter 18
Brie
I grabbed a turkey wrap and an iced tea at Davy’s, my hands moving automatically while my brain kept replaying the same beach footage on an endless loop.
It was supposed to have been cover. But I’d whimpered. Whimpered! And the desperate way my leg hooked around his hips? The way I’d imagined his hands invading my bathing suit?
That hunger had been terrifyingly real.
“Stop it,” I whispered to myself, earning a curious look from the woman ahead of me in line.
The smart thing would be to take my food back to our room, eat quickly, and pretend nothing happened this morning. But the thought of being trapped with him and that giant bed for hours made my chest tight. I needed a distraction.
Scarlett’s voice echoed in my brain: Gather some intel.
I left the cafeteria and headed through the central hub of The Grotto to one of the game rooms. It would be perfect—background noise, casual conversation with colleagues, and maybe some insight into security protocols.
The room was larger than I’d expected, with multiple gaming stations and a pool table where two men in turbans were engaged in what looked like a serious match.
A larger group had claimed the main television mounted on the far wall to watch hockey.
The gaming area was clearly designed with tech introverts in mind—oversized swivel chairs and couches, offering a choice between teamwork and isolation.
Ken and a few other Bridge colleagues sat at one of the racing setups, controllers in hand.
“Another crash and burn,” the guy in the blue shirt muttered as his car spun out spectacularly. “This game is rigged.”
“Maybe try braking before the turns,” Ken suggested with mock helpfulness, not looking away from his own screen as he overtook someone else’s smoking wreckage.
“Easy for you to say. You’ve been playing this thing for months.”
“Skill, not practice,” Ken corrected, which earned him a thrown piece of popcorn.
The familiar dynamic made something in my chest loosen slightly. This I could handle.
“Brie!” one of the women called out. What was her name? Sandy? Sarah? “Want to jump in? Jake’s getting destroyed here and could use some company in last place.”
So Blue Shirt was Jake. Perfect. I settled into an empty gaming chair next to them, unwrapping my food. “I’m just going to watch for now—I’m famished. But thanks.”
“Jesus, Ken, you gun it through every turn,” said the guy with glasses I’d mentally dubbed Mr. Glasses. “This isn’t bumper cars.”
“Says the guy who took out half the field trying to pass on the inside,” Sandy-Sarah shot back.
I took a bite of my wrap and watched them play Velocity Championship. Will and I had been playing it online since it came out six months ago. I knew every track, every car’s handling characteristics, and optimal racing lines for each corner. I could probably dominate this game if I wanted to.
Scarlett told you not to stand out.
“This place is enormous,” I said between bites. “I feel like I’ve only seen a fraction of it.”
“Takes months to get oriented,” Ken agreed, his car taking a sharp corner. “Especially when you’re stuck on The Bridge all day.”
“Everything’s connected to The Grotto, though,” Sandy-Sarah added. “The spa, gym, even the movie theater. Makes navigation easier once you figure that out.”
“What about the non-personal areas?”
“Depends on what you mean,” Jake said, his car finally staying on the track for more than thirty seconds. “The server rooms all branch off from one main hallway after security, plus there’s the power plant past The Bridge, and the backup storage facilities behind The Pacific.”
Sandy-Sarah nodded. “Bridge staff need escorts and solid reasons to visit any of those areas. Green and yellow badges have limited access.”
“It’s all so mysterious,” I continued. “When I got the recruiting message, I tried researching Mnemis online. Couldn’t even figure out where it was located.”
Sandy-Sarah and Mr. Glasses exchanged a pleased look.
“That’s the point,” Ken said with obvious pride. “Most of us participate in misinformation campaigns online. We post fake job listings, create false social media profiles—it makes it nearly impossible for anyone to get accurate intel about this place.”
“Why?” I asked.
“I hear it started during the construction phase as a security measure, then it became the modus operandi.” Ken shrugged. “Plus, it’s fun fueling some of the online conspiracy threads.”
“Aliens.” Sandy-Sarah gave me an overdramatic nod. “That’s what we’ve got inside here.”
“Don’t forget all the Area 51 research.” Jake’s car spun out on the screen again, and he tossed the controller onto the table between all the chairs. “I hate this game.”
As their race finished with Ken taking first place, Sandy-Sarah turned to me. “Want to give it a go?”
“I’ll try,” I said, setting down my wrap and accepting a controller.
As I selected my vehicle, Claire appeared beside our gaming area. “Room for one more? I could use a race or two to unwind.”
“Of course,” Ken said. “Brie’s just joining for her first race, so go easy on the noob.”
“No promises,” Claire said, settling into an empty chair and grabbing a spare controller. “You certainly flew through your training modules today, Brie. No questions?”
“No.” I selected a mid-range car while she spoke, trying to appear unfamiliar with the game setup. “The customer management system is similar to my last job, despite how different the work is.”
“Oh? How so?” Claire asked as someone picked the track—Monaco, naturally.
“At Redoubt, we mostly did reactive support,” I said, which was true for our cover story. “Here, it seems more proactive. More systematic monitoring.”
The race started, and I deliberately took the first few corners cautiously, staying in the middle of the pack while Claire immediately shot to the front with Ken.
“That makes sense,” Claire said as her car navigated a tricky chicane with ease. “Redoubt’s smaller scale, right? Different infrastructure challenges.”
“Exactly.” The way she asked seemed casual, but something about her tone made me tense. Just like this morning. “The scale here is impressive. Much more complex systems to manage.”
“I imagine the learning curve will be steep,” she continued, overtaking Ken on an inside line. “Are you finding the protocols intuitive? Or do you think you might need some additional mentoring to get up to speed?”
The subtle condescension in that last comment irritated me. “I think I’ll manage,” I said, my tone sharper than necessary. I took the next corner more aggressively than I’d planned, using the racing line I knew would be optimal. My car shot past two others.
“Nicely done,” Jake commented. “You sure you haven’t played this before?”
“Beginner’s luck, I suppose,” Claire said smoothly. “Though I have to say, for someone from a smaller operation, you’re adapting remarkably quickly to our… complexity.”
The way she said ‘smaller operation’ made my jaw tighten. Why? Redoubt was a cover story, so calling it small shouldn’t have bothered me.
Muscle memory kicked in, and I shifted out of a corner, passing a few more AI cars.
I started catching up to Ken. Without thinking, I used a technique Will had taught me—late braking into a hairpin turn, then cutting across the track to block the racing line behind me.
It worked perfectly, putting me ahead of Ken.
“Damn, Brie,” Sarah said. “Where’d that come from?”
Reality crashed back. I was supposed to be mediocre at this. I jerked the controller hard and crashed spectacularly into a barrier.
“Will and I have played a lot of Forza and F1,” I blurted, my cheeks heating. “So it kind of felt natural. But apparently not too natural, since I just plowed into a wall.”
“Who’s Will?” Jake asked.
“My bestie,” I said automatically, still busy getting my car back on the track.
“Husband, you mean?” Claire’s voice carried a note of curiosity.
Oh, shit. “Yeah, I’m still getting used to that. We only got married a couple of weeks ago.”
The race ended with Claire in first and me somewhere in the middle after my crash. She set down her controller and stretched.
“Thanks for the race,” Claire said. “I should grab some food before Davy’s gets too busy, then hit my rack.”
Hit my rack? That was an odd turn of phrase for a data analyst.
“See you tomorrow,” Sandy-Sarah called as Claire headed for the exit.
The moment she disappeared through the doorway, the group’s dynamic shifted.
“Has she given you the Claire treatment yet?” Ken asked me.
“The what?”
“Her security interview thing,” Jake explained. “She treats every new employee as if she’s conducting background checks.”
“She’s so fucking intense,” Sandy-Sarah said, shaking her head. “Remember when someone left a server rack unlocked last month? She wrote a three-page report about security protocols.”
“With footnotes,” Mr. Glasses added. “Who footnotes an internal memo?”
A snort-laugh escaped me before I could stop it. “She wrote footnotes?”
“Did you know she built our Wi-Fi monitoring AI?” Sandy-Sarah continued. “Like, the whole system. From scratch.”
I almost spit out my iced tea. “She built the AI?”
“Apparently, it was some kind of personal project,” Jake said. “Management loved it so much they implemented it facility-wide.”
Building surveillance AI wasn’t typical data analyst work. It required advanced programming skills, a deep understanding of network architecture, and, most importantly, a security mindset that prioritized monitoring over privacy.
“Or when she tried bypassing the HSMs during her second week here,” Ken added. “Pardeep nearly had a stroke.”
My stomach dropped. “She tried to bypass the Hardware Security Modules?”
“Yeah, some kind of ‘security assessment,’ she claimed,” Mr. Glasses said with air quotes. “Scared the hell out of management. Apparently, she got really far before they stopped her.”
How far exactly? How did Claire’s hacking skills compare to mine? If she’d failed to breach the HSMs, did that mean the vulnerability was genuinely secure, or had she simply lacked the right approach?
If Claire had already tested that avenue and presumably failed—since the HSM system was still in place—it meant that potential infiltration routes might be completely closed to us. But why would she be probing the facility’s defenses in the first place?
“She got white-level access faster than anyone I’ve heard of,” Jake said. “Usually takes years to build that kind of trust.”
“Record time, according to Pardeep,” said Ken. “Makes you wonder what her background check looked like.”
“Or she’s got some kind of special arrangement with Moss,” Sandy-Sarah suggested.
“What kind of special arrangement?” Ken asked with a smirk.
“Ew, he’s like sixty,” Mr. Glasses said.
“Obviously, you’ve never been in the gym at the same time as Moss,” Sandy-Sarah said, fanning herself. “The man’s built like the cover model for a silver fox romance.”
I needed to redirect this before it devolved completely. “What did you really mean by special arrangement?”
“Internal security?” Sandy-Sarah lowered her voice. “Think about it—BumbleHive background, security obsession, systematic questioning of new employees. Plus, she has access to pretty much everything here.”
“The perfect inside job,” Mr. Glasses said. “Good thing she’s on our side.”
“Is she, though?” Jake asked, and the casual way he said it made everyone pause.
“What do you mean?” Sandy-Sarah asked.
“I mean, how would we know? She has all the access, all the skills, and she asks more questions than HR. If someone wanted to infiltrate this place, they’d look exactly like Claire.”
It was a joke, and everyone laughed, but what if he was right?
The way she treated new employees wasn’t normal. Her competitive analysis of every situation, from racing games to security protocols, her casual mention of classified government work and military-style language? It was intelligence gathering.
And her specific interest in Redoubt Systems. Her pointed questions about our technical backgrounds and previous work experience.
“You’re so paranoid,” Sandy-Sarah said.
“Sometimes,” Jake said. “But you have to admit, she’s not exactly an open book.”
The conversation moved on to speculation about whether Claire had ever actually dated anyone or if she was too focused on work for relationships, but I found myself only half-listening.
My mind was racing through my limited interactions with Claire, the questions she’d asked, the way she’d probed at our cover story.
“I should probably head back, too,” I said, standing and gathering my trash.
“Get a good sleep,” Ken said, pretending to yawn. “Tomorrow, you’re covering incident response protocols.”
“Sounds thrilling,” I managed, forcing a smile despite the tightness building in my chest.
Claire was my team lead at Mnemis, but she was also a walking red flag.
I needed to tell Will.