20. Ethan
Ethan
Sophie arrives just after five.
I watch from my bedroom window as she parks near the side entrance and steps out of the car.
She’s still wearing her office clothes, black pants and a white dress shirt, but her hair is in a haphazard ponytail, like she just grabbed it and twisted it out of her face, little pieces escaping at her temples.
It’s messy. Unpolished. Like she did it without thinking about who’d see her.
I shake the thought away and head for the stairs.
By the time I reach the ground floor, Max is already at the front door, pulling it open. Finn is in the living room, sprawled on the leather couch with a glass of whiskey in his hand, trying his best to look casual, but I can feel the tension radiating from him ten feet away.
A little early for whiskey, even by Finn’s standards, but I don’t mention it.
“Sophie.” Max steps aside, gesturing her in. “Come in.”
She crosses the threshold.
“Hey, Soph.” I spread my arms wide, offering her a warm smile. “Welcome to our humble abode.”
She looks at me, and for just a second something softens at the corner of her mouth, like she’s fighting off a smile.
“Thanks,” she says, her eyes traveling around the room with quiet curiosity.
Overstuffed leather couches sit around a stone fireplace, bookshelves so full the books are stacked horizontally on top of the vertical ones, a Persian rug that Finn haggled for at an estate sale and has refused to replace despite years of wear.
A clutter of things around the room—a throw blanket draped over one arm of the couch, a half-empty coffee mug on the side table, my reading glasses folded on top of a book.
It looks like a comfortable, lived-in home.
“Not what you expected?” I ask, watching her take it all in.
She glances at me. “It’s nice. Comfortable.”
“We like it.” I shrug. “We all just wanted somewhere that actually felt like home.”
She doesn’t respond to that, but her gaze lingers on the photos above the fireplace.
My mother, in most of them. Finn as a boy, grinning in the middle of the big family he’s the youngest of.
Me at eight, all gap teeth and cowlick. The three of us at graduation, young and hopeful, with no idea what the future would hold.
“Have a seat,” Max says simply, gesturing toward the couch opposite Finn.
Sophie settles onto the couch, straight-backed, hands folded in her lap, like she’s bracing for a job interview.
“Can we get you anything?” I ask. “Coffee? Tea?”
“Water would be fine,” she says.
I head for the kitchen, grateful for the excuse to move. Something about watching Sophie in our home, the place we retreat to when we need to be ourselves, feels strange. Intimate, in a way. She’s getting a glimpse into our lives outside the office, a side of us very few people ever see.
When I return with the glass of water, she already has her tablet out, scrolling through the screen.
I hand her the water and settle onto the opposite end of the couch. Max and Finn are on the couch across from us, Max leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, Finn slouched back with his whiskey.
“I received the background check reports from Sentinel yesterday,” Sophie begins. “I’ve had a chance to review them thoroughly.”
She taps her tablet, pulling up a document.
“For the most part, your employees are clean. Solid work histories, stable finances, no red flags in their personal lives.” She scrolls through the list. “However, three individuals have been flagged for closer attention.”
She turns the tablet so we can see the screen. Three personnel files, arranged side by side.
“First, Phoebe Brandt. Marketing coordinator. She’s been with the company for three years.
” She pauses. “The background check revealed significant debt. Student loans, credit cards, a personal loan she took out eight months ago. She’s been paying the minimum on everything, barely keeping her head above water. ”
I lean forward to study Phoebe’s file. I’ve met her a few times—bright, eager, always the first to volunteer for extra projects. It’s hard to imagine her as a corporate spy.
But then, that’s probably the point.
“Second we have Victor Hartman, part of the security team.” Sophie swipes to the next file.
“Ten years with the company and he has an impeccable record. But Declan flagged some irregularities in his recent communications. He’s been sending encrypted messages to an unknown recipient from his work device during work hours.
It could be nothing, maybe a private relationship he wants to keep quiet.
I can’t imagine someone working in security would be careless enough to use their work device to do shady stuff... but then again, who knows.”
Max’s expression hardens. “Victor has been with us since the beginning. He even helped design our security protocols.”
“Which means he knows exactly how to circumvent them,” Sophie says flatly. “Look, I’m not saying he’s guilty. I’m just saying he warrants closer scrutiny.”
The third file appears on screen. She has dark hair, sharp features, and very intense eyes. I recognize her instantly.
“Diana Quinn, part of the research team. She joined Synthera eighteen months ago, recruited directly from a competitor.” Sophie pauses.
“I’ve heard that her work has been exemplary.
But she has access to sensitive areas of the building, and her previous employer, Helix Pharmaceuticals, has a history of aggressive corporate espionage. ”
“Diana’s brilliant,” I say, frowning. “Her work on the hormone regulation project has been groundbreaking.”
“Brilliant people can still be compromised.” Sophie meets my eyes steadily. “Everyone wants something. The trick is finding out what.”
The room falls silent. I stare at the three faces on the screen. These are people I know, ones I would never have suspected of betrayal.
But someone did betray us. Someone let the intruder in, or came through that window themselves, and nearly destroyed years of research. And that someone is still here, pretending to be loyal.
The thought makes my stomach turn.
“So what are the next steps?” Max asks, his voice tight.
Sophie sets down the tablet and leans back slightly. “I need to get closer to each of them and build rapport. Look for inconsistencies between what they say and what the background checks reveal, maybe even get them to open up to me.”
“Phoebe shouldn’t be a problem,” Finn says, speaking for the first time, although he isn’t looking at any of us, just staring into his whiskey glass. “You’re already in the same office.”
“Exactly.” Sophie nods. “I’ve been working on her all week. She trusts me. It’s just a matter of deepening that trust until she lets something slip.”
“And Diana?” I ask.
Sophie turns to look at me. “That’s why my next rotation should be the research department. It gives me a legitimate reason to spend time with her without raising suspicion.”
“I’ll introduce you to the team myself,” I say.
“As for Victor...” Max trails off, frowning. “It makes no sense for a personal assistant to do a rotation in the security team. Nobody would buy it.”
“No,” Sophie agrees. “I can’t come up with a plausible excuse to suddenly start spending time with security personnel.” She pauses, her expression thoughtful. “But I’m sure I’ll find another way to get close to him.”
The moment the words leave her mouth, Finn’s hand clenches around his whiskey glass, his knuckles going white. Max goes rigid, a muscle ticking in his jaw. And my stomach does that strange, twisting thing it does when something is wrong but I can’t quite figure out what.
Another way to get close to him.
She means seduction. It has to be seduction. That’s what she does, isn’t it? Get close to targets, make them trust her, extract information through whatever means necessary.
The thought of Sophie doing that with Victor—with anyone—makes something dark and uncomfortable coil in my chest.
But if Sophie notices the shift in the room, she doesn’t show it. She’s already moved on, scrolling through her tablet, reviewing her notes from the week.
“I’ve also been observing the general dynamics in the marketing department,” she continues.
“Celine has been invaluable—she knows everyone, hears everything. Through her, I’ve learned that Phoebe has been distracted lately.
Coming in late, leaving early, taking long lunch breaks.
Celine thinks it’s relationship trouble, but it could be something else. ”
None of us respond. She keeps going.
“Fabian Monroe in IT has been logging extra hours, but that could be legitimate—they’ve been upgrading the server infrastructure.” She scrolls through more notes. “Angela in marketing had a family emergency yesterday. Her mother is ill.”
She glances at Finn as she says this, and for the first time since she arrived, Finn looks up at her—but then quickly looks away again.
“Other than that, nothing out of the ordinary. People seem happy. Loyal.” She sets down the tablet. “Which makes my job harder. Whoever the mole is, they’re good at hiding it.”
“Or they’re someone we’d never suspect,” I murmur.
“That’s usually how it works.”
Silence settles over the room, the only sound the fire crackling in the hearth.
Sophie stands abruptly, smoothing her pants with one hand.
“Can you show me the security room?” she asks. “The one with all the camera feeds. I want to check the coverage, find any blind spots, before someone tries again.”
“Of course.” I rise from the couch. “Follow me.”
Max stands as well. “I’ll join you.”
Finn doesn’t move from the couch. He just raises his whiskey glass in a vague gesture. “I’ll hold down the fort.”
I lead them out of the living room and down the hall toward the back of the house. The security room is tucked away in a corner of the ground floor.
“This way,” I say, pushing open the door.