Chapter 27
A yawn escapes me as I lean back in my chair, rubbing my tired eyes.
The office is eerily quiet tonight outside of the lashing rain outside.
Steven stepped outside to call his wife, and Joshua’s holed up somewhere indulging in his cigarette addiction.
I’m the only one left on our floor, the harsh fluorescent lights humming above me in the silence.
“I need coffee,” I mutter to myself, pushing away from my desk. Standing up makes me realize just how exhausted I am. The late nights preparing for tomorrow’s Serastra launch have taken their toll. I stretch, feeling the tension in my shoulders, and make my way to the kitchenette.
Outside, rain lashes against the windows, punctuated by occasional flashes of lightning.
Thunder rumbles in the distance, matching the weariness in my bones.
The storm has been building all evening.
At least the forecast said sunny skies for tomorrow.
Thank god. The last thing we need is rain during the yacht launch.
All those investors in their designer clothes wouldn’t appreciate getting soaked on deck.
I grab my mug from the cupboard and pour steaming coffee from the pot.
I open a new bag of coffee grounds, the ones that Caleb stacked here for me, and warmth fills my chest. The thought of Caleb makes me hum happily.
These late nights working on the Serastra campaign have left me drained, but every hour spent with him feels like a rush of adrenaline.
I’m actually looking forward to this weekend.
He’s taking me shopping to pick up things for the trip he’s planning.
And on Sunday, he’s coming over to meet my mother for dinner.
The thought makes me both nervous and excited.
Things with my mother are slowly working out.
Time still has to heal our wounds, but she’s trying and I’m meeting her in the middle.
I stir cream into my coffee and watch the liquid swirl into a caramel color, the spoon clinking against ceramic, filling me with comfort against the nasty weather. As I make my way back to my desk, however, I notice something odd.
Steven’s laptop isn’t fully closed. A sliver of light peeks through the gap, casting a thin blue beam across his desk.
I shouldn’t look. It’s not my business.
And yet...
I hesitate, coffee mug warm against my palm, before curiosity wins out. I set my mug down and flip the laptop open with one finger. The screen brightens to reveal a file transfer window. At first, I think nothing of it—probably just backing up his work. But there’s another window behind it.
An email draft. The message field is blank, but the attachment names catch my eye. My heart stutters as I lean closer. These are our files. Not just any files—the secure ones for tomorrow’s event. The files only Caleb and I have access to.
“What the hell?” I mutter, clicking on one of the attachments. The document opens, and I stare at it, my breath caught in my throat. It’s our venue security protocol, with every detail we painstakingly developed over the last month.
“No,” I whisper, my voice barely audible over the pounding of my heart. “No, that can’t be right.”
I click on another attachment. The guest list. Another click. The vendor contracts. With trembling fingers, I navigate back to the email draft and check the sending address. It’s Steven’s, but not his company account. This one is in a different domain entirely.
“Why would Steven...” I trail off, switching to the file transfer window.
He’s copying files from a restricted server directory, one he shouldn’t have access to at all.
“No, no, no.” My voice shakes as I click through more files, each one confirming what I don’t want to believe.
“Why would he do this? It doesn’t make sense. ”
A cold wave of shock washes over me, turning my limbs to lead. I grip the edge of the desk to steady myself as the truth crashes down. “Steven is the mole,” I breathe, the words feeling foreign on my tongue.
My mind reels, scrambling to make sense of this revelation. Not Steven—quiet, unassuming Steven with his family photos, his tired smiles, his coffee-stained ties. Steven, who brings homemade cookies from his wife. Steven, who everyone trusts because he’s so forgettable, so... normal.
All this time we’d been looking in the wrong direction. I was so sure it was Joshua, even when I didn’t want him to be. Even Caleb had been sure of it. But we were wrong. So terribly wrong.
My heart hammers against my ribs, each beat like a thunderclap in my ears. I stare at the screen, watching the progress bar crawl forward—72%... 73%... Each percentage point bringing us closer to disaster. Every file he transfers is another nail in our coffin.
I have to stop it. Now.
My hands hover over the keyboard. What’s his password? I try clicking the cancel button, but a password prompt appears. I type in ‘Steven’—Nothing. ‘Password’—Nothing. My fingers tremble as I try ‘Marian,’ his wife’s name—Still nothing.
The progress bar ticks to 74%.
Sweat beads on my forehead as my eyes dart around the screen, looking for any way to interrupt the transfer. The room feels too hot, too small. My breathing quickens, shallow and fast. There’s a ringing in my ears that grows louder with each passing second.
76%.
Think, Eve, think! I scan the desk for any clues, any scrap of paper with a password written down, but there’s nothing. Just Steven’s neat stack of folders, his perfectly arranged pens, his family photo.
78%.
The dim glow of the screen illuminates the ports on the side of the laptop. The Wi-Fi adapter, a small USB dongle glowing with a blue light. If I can’t cancel the transfer, maybe I can cut the connection.
My fingers feel clumsy, adrenaline making them shake as I reach around the laptop. I grab the tiny adapter, hesitating for just a fraction of a second. What if I’m wrong? What if there’s an innocent explanation? But the email address, the restricted files...
80%.
I pull the adapter out with a sharp tug.
The connection icon on the screen flashes, then shows an error.
But the progress bar doesn’t stop—it’s still transferring something, somehow.
Panic surges through me, my pulse a frantic rhythm against my throat.
I press the power button, holding it down with white-knuckled desperation.
One second. Two seconds. The screen flickers.
Three seconds. Four seconds.
The progress bar freezes at 82%.
Five seconds.
The screen goes black.
I let out a shaky breath, slumping forward as relief washes over me.
I did it. I stopped the transfer. For a moment, I just breathe, trying to slow my racing heart.
Then reality crashes back in. This laptop contains proof of Steven’s betrayal—emails, file transfers, everything we need to nail him. I can’t leave it here.
I glance at my desk across the room, where my phone sits charging. I need to call Caleb, call security—but I need this evidence first.
Carefully, I close the laptop and pick it up, tucking it under my arm. It feels heavy, weighted with the evidence of months of deception. The files alone would be enough to get Steven fired, maybe even prosecuted for corporate espionage.
I turn toward my desk, taking a step forward, when a voice freezes me in place.
“Eve?” Steven’s voice comes from the doorway, sounding like his normal, mild-mannered self. “What are you doing?”
I turn slowly, clutching the laptop against my chest. For a split second, he looks like the same old Steven—tired eyes, rumpled shirt, slight frown of confusion. Then his gaze drops to the laptop under my arm.
The change is instantaneous and terrifying. His eyes narrow, all pretense of exhaustion vanishing. His friendly expression morphs into cold irritation, jaw tightening, nostrils flaring. It’s like watching a mask slip from his face, revealing something harder and more dangerous underneath.
“You shouldn’t have done that.” His voice is different now—colder, devoid of the tired dad persona he’s cultivated for years.
I take a step back, my fingers instinctively wrapping around my coffee mug, the only potential weapon within reach. The office is dim, most of the lights turned off for the night. Steven stands in the doorway, his silhouette dark against the faint glow of the hallway lights.
Thunder rumbles outside as I study him in the half-light.
Everything about him has changed. His posture, usually slouched with fake fatigue, is now straight and alert.
His eyes, normally tired and gentle, have hardened to flints of ice.
His mouth, typically curved in a self-deprecating smile, is now a thin, cruel line.
The night air feels suddenly charged with tension, thick and oppressive. I tighten my grip on the mug, calculating the distance between us, wondering if I could make it to the door before he reaches me.
“It’s been you all along.” My voice sounds steadier than I feel. “You’re the mole.”
He steps into the room, the shadows playing across his face. His eyes gleam with a cold intelligence I’ve never seen before, tracking my every movement. His smile is small and confident, the smile of someone who knows exactly what he’s doing.
For a heartbeat, I don’t recognize him at all. It’s as if the Steven I’ve worked alongside for years has been replaced by a stranger wearing his face.
“It’s not personal,” he says with a shrug that seems obscenely casual given the circumstances. “It’s just a job.”
Anger flares in my chest. “To hell with that! You’ve been stealing our work for months. First leaking our original Serastra campaign, and now this? You’ve put all our jobs on the line!”
He doesn’t look remotely upset. “It’s business, Eve. Nothing more.”