Chapter 42 #2
My mouth turns dry, my insides queasy with the idea that someone out there, a nameless, faceless person, wants to target me. A person who is intentional and specific. My stomach tightens at the thought that someone wants to hurt me. For the life of me I cannot figure out who, or why.
This shift happened around the time Matteo told Alex what I’d discovered—that it was highly likely that this was an inside job.
We were going to keep this to ourselves, but then Matteo told Alex.
And after we left for Dubrovnik, after he confided in the one person he trusted most, the tech glitches no longer targeted the company.
They started to target me.
I bolt upright in bed.
No way.
Alex.
Alex?
Could he be the one behind all of this?
No.
I refuse to believe it.
Like Matteo did.
Alex has been so good to me, and he’s always so steady and grounded. Dependable and calm. He's Matteo's right-hand man ... which is precisely why he wouldn’t come under suspicion.
I still can’t believe it. Even now, with everything lining up, some stubborn part of me resists.
Suspicion isn't enough. Matteo needs conclusive proof that can’t be argued with. Something Alex can’t explain away.
Only Alex knew about my suspicions. Not Sonny or Joel.
But what if Alex told Sonny or Joel?
There are so many possibilities, and I need to do something clever to catch the culprit.
***
By the time I get into the office the next morning, my heart is racing like I’ve sprinted a mile. I barely look at anyone as I head for my desk, drop my bag and power up my machine.
I didn’t sleep much after I had that realization, and while I should be exhausted, the adrenaline coursing through me keeps me wide awake and alert.
I glance around quickly. Everything looks calm.
Normal. Just another day at work. There’s nothing to suggest that there’s a saboteur sitting among us.
Nothing to suggest I’ve spent the last few weeks with my reputation in pieces while the real culprit watches from somewhere close by.
I pull up the logs and examine them again. That change in pattern is all too obvious now that I know. The early incidents have one rhythm—probing, testing, minor acts of disruption.
Enough to make Paul Knight paranoid. Enough to justify bringing in an outside expert.
Me.
I stop thinking about the need to prove my innocence and start thinking like the person I used to be. Not the girl everyone underestimated. Or the woman half this office thinks slept with the boss to get ahead.
The other version of me. The one who knows how people move when they think no one’s watching.
The one who understands temptation and curiosity and the itch to touch the thing you know you shouldn’t.
I remember something that Vlad taught me early on.
You don’t catch people by chasing them. You catch them by giving them somewhere to go.
So I create it carefully. The trap.
A honeytoken.
It’s nothing dramatic. It won’t crash any systems or derail anything if the wrong person pokes at it.
It’s just a false trail dressed up as an opportunity.
A hidden pathway that appears to expose information it shouldn't.
Buried inside routine system housekeeping, it looks exactly like the kind of mistake an overworked administrator might leave behind.
Tempting enough that someone already inside the architecture would recognize it for what it appears to be. Inside this, I place a marker; a tiny signature that shouldn’t be touched unless someone is snooping exactly where they shouldn’t be.
And that someone might not be Alex. It could be Joel or Sonny. It could be the others. I wouldn’t be surprised if the secret that should have stayed between me and Matteo, has spread like wildfire around the office.
Doesn’t matter. The honeytoken will catch them.
My fingers hover over the keyboard for a second before I commit it. If I’m wrong, I’ll look paranoid. If I’m right, I’ll be vindicated.
I set it live and sit back for a few moments, trying to calm my nerves.
Then I get up and walk straight to Matteo’s office.
He looks up when I come in, his eyes roving over my face, warming every part of it.
He looks away sharply, but it’s too late.
Something in my chest twists and churns, the way it always does when he stares at me like that.
He’s in a dark shirt today, sleeves rolled up, bracelets at his wrist. His tousled hair falls over his forehead like he’s been raking his hands through it.
I wish I could rake my hands through it.
He looks edgy. Like he hasn’t rested in a long time and I can see how much of a toll all of this is taking on him. I hate that I notice all of it, and I hate that I still care.
He looks at me, eyes narrowing. “What is it?”
I shut the door behind me. “I think I know how to catch him.”
His expression changes at once. “Him?”
“I’m not one hundred percent certain,” I say, though that’s not true anymore. I’m about ninety eight percent certain and the last two percent is fear. “But I’m close enough that I’ve set something in motion.”
He stands. “Who?”
I pause, because when I tell him, I'm scared he won't believe me. He might even hate me and think I'm seeking retribution. Throwing the blame squarely back.
“Who, Elizabeth?” His eyes are dark, like he's almost afraid of what I might say.
“Alex,” I whisper.
The word lands between us like a lit match near dynamite. He stares at me in disbelief, before giving a short shake of his head. “What makes you think it's him?”
“I'm trusting my gut, and I'm hoping to prove it to you, but equally, it could also be Joel or Sonny. It depends if Alex told them.”
He looks away into the distance. “I find it hard to believe,” he says finally. “But ...” He pauses, and I wait for him to refuse to believe it; to give me more reasons why it can’t be his trusted Alex. But he doesn’t.
“It doesn't make sense,” he says.
I want to yell. I want to holler at him: It doesn't make sense now? Because it's your right-hand man?
“It makes perfect sense,” I say, watching him carefully. “You just don’t want to believe it.” And then, because I can’t help myself. “You found it easier to believe that it was me.”
That seems to strike a chord. His eyes narrow, his lips twitch, like he’s fighting an internal battle. “You don’t know him the way I do.”
That hurts. I thought Matteo knew me well, but he seemed to have no trouble believing it could be me.
“No. I suppose I don’t,” I say, as calmly as I can.
He drags a hand through his hair. “You’re asking me to believe that the man who has been beside me for years, the man I trust with everything in that lab, is the one behind this?”
“I’m asking you to stop deciding what you can believe before you see proof. That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?”
For a hard, awkward moment we just look at one another. He looks pained, breathing too hard, his chest rising and falling quicker than usual. I hate how I am so aware of him all the time, and how easily he seems to not be aware of me.
“I need conclusive proof, Elizabeth.”
“That's what I'm hoping to give you.” I purse my lips together, my insides on fire. He didn't disregard it being me, so easily. I take in a few deep breaths, trying to stay calm. Trying to bury the hurt.
Why do people always believe the worst about me?
He wrongly accused me, and now I'm asking him to redirect that suspicion to someone he trusts completely.
No wonder he's unable to conceive of another betrayal.
But as he comes round from behind his desk, agitation rolls off him in waves.
He looks more unsettled than ever. “I trusted him. I never thought ... I never ...”
He sounds so miserable, unraveling before my eyes. As if yet another person who meant a lot to him has let him down.
But … I realize then that this isn't about him trusting Alex more than me, it's about him feeling like the ground beneath him has shifted. That he’s lost trust and faith in the people he depended on.
And trust and faith, I have come to learn, are the pillars of Matteo's moral code.
Truth.
Loyalty.
Family.
Faith.
I’ve seen words inked into his skin and I’ve heard the stories behind them. My heart tells me to comfort him, but my mind tells me to hold steady.
“I set bait,” I announce.
His brows draw together.
“It’s a fake vulnerability,” I say. “Or it looks like one. Hidden in a place only someone already moving through the system would notice.”
I pause, because my voice is shaky, and this moment is surreal.
“And?” Matteo watches me.
“And someone who's already poking around where they shouldn't be will find it. Someone who knows the system well enough to recognize an opportunity, and arrogant enough to think they're untouchable.” I swallow. “When they touch it, they'll leave fingerprints. Digital ones, but just as damning.”
“How certain are you that it’s Alex?” His voice is flat, like he’s resigning himself to something awful.
“I’m certain enough not to sit around waiting for him to frame me better. But, like I said, I don't know who else might be involved. It could be Alex. It could be someone he trusted. It could be someone acting alone. We'll find out soon enough.”
Something flickers in his eyes. Maybe it’s pain, or shame, but it disappears before I get a chance to decide.
“What if you’re wrong?” he asks.
“Then nothing happens.”
“And if you’re right?”
I hold his gaze. “Then we find the person who tried to frame me”
“Fuck.” He moves toward the glass wall of his office, then back again, pacing around like a restless, caged beast. I see the battle inside him. How he’s trying to reconcile years of loyalty with logic. How resistance and anger meld within him. Finally he says, “I should call him in now.”
“No.”
His head snaps towards me. “Why not?”
“Because if you confront him now, he’ll deny it. He’ll have time to clean up whatever I haven’t already found. He’ll go to ground.” I step closer without meaning to, lowering my voice. “You need him to move, Matteo. You need him to think he’s safe.”