Chapter 41
Chapter Forty-One
Hemlock stood near the closed door, the room was dimly lit. The glow from the wall of computer screened cast shadows across the floor.
Sherlock sat at the bank of computers, his fingers dancing over the keys of his laptop with a quiet rhythm.
The only sounds in the room were the soft clicking of the keys and the occasional hum of his computer fan.
His workspace was meticulously organized, all wires and equipment neatly stowed away, a stark contrast to the chaos of the outside world.
This was where he thrived…hidden behind the screen, orchestrating things from the shadows.
The task in front of him was a delicate one.
He had to craft an airtight timeline, one that would place Shannon leaving town without a trace of suspicion.
She had no real connections…no family, no friends who’d be looking for her.
That made things easier, but it also meant there would be no one to vouch for her if anyone started asking questions.
His eyes flicked to the monitor as he began pulling up Shannon’s public records, starting with her social media profiles.
A quick search on her name turned up a few scattered posts, most of them mundane, nothing that hinted at the sort of life she’d led.
He could work with this, people like Shannon were easy to erase, especially when there wasn’t much to begin with.
His fingers moved quickly, clicking through pages of data, pulling up old posts, checking timestamps, and combing through messages.
He needed to make it look like Shannon had been preparing for a move…
nothing too obvious, just enough to make it believable.
A few casual mentions in old chat logs about leaving town, maybe an email or two to "a friend" about needing a fresh start. He’d make sure the data was fabricated in such a way that it blended seamlessly into the background of her real life.
He set up a VPN to disguise his location and a few encrypted communication channels to make it look like Shannon had been speaking to someone about this plan. Maybe an old colleague or some random acquaintance. Nothing that could be traced back to them.
A few minutes later, he was deep into her old email accounts, setting up a few innocuous but convincing messages.
One to a credit card company, updating her address.
Another to a moving company, scheduling a pickup.
All timestamps carefully aligned. Nothing that would stand out as fake, but all of it leading to one conclusion: Shannon had decided to leave.
Once he was done with that, Sherlock moved on to more intricate details…
tracking information for flights and bus schedules.
Nothing direct, just enough to imply that she’d left the area, making it look like she’d caught a flight to a distant city, far from the scene.
The beauty of this was that no one would check; no one would ask.
Her disappearance wouldn’t raise an eyebrow.
And just in case anyone did decide to get curious, Sherlock made sure the flight records weren’t directly linked to Shannon. They would show someone with a name that could be hers, enough of a close match that, in the absence of clear identification, they’d just assume it was her.
His fingers paused over the keyboard as he reviewed everything.
His eyes narrowed, his mind going over every detail.
It had to be perfect. There could be no cracks in this story.
The timeline needed to be foolproof…just a string of quiet, unremarkable activities, each one blending together like nothing more than a routine set of decisions.
Finally, Sherlock added one last touch: a series of "check-ins" to her social media, automated posts timed to make it look like she was just living her new life, far away, far from anyone who could connect her to the events that had happened.
The most recent post was a generic picture of a sunset.
An image anyone could have taken from the window of an apartment on the other side of the country.
He leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms over his head. The timeline was ready, airtight and seamless. It would stand up to any scrutiny, leaving no trail behind, no loose ends to tie up. It was the perfect alibi, the perfect cover story.
"Done," Sherlock muttered, his lips curling into a satisfied grin. "Time to let the rest of the pieces fall into place." He loved his job.
With one final keystroke, he encrypted the file and sent it off to the others, the data now in their hands. The woman was gone. And no one would ever know the truth.
Now, all they had to do was keep things quiet long enough for the storm to blow over.
Turning his chair around he smiled at Hemlock. “Alright, my work is done.”
“I don’t know how you do all that shit, but I for one am glad you’re on our side.”
“Fear me,” Sherlock said followed by a chuckle.
“Let’s go grab a drink.”
“I’ll be out in a minute, gotta keep an eye on this for a bit.” He wanted to make sure if anyone commented on any of the updated post, he was there to respond as Shannon.
Waving off Hemlock, he appreciated that the brother closed the door.