2. CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 2
Cassidy
"What should we do?" Tim asks, his voice laced with panic.
I want to tell him that I don't know, but that wouldn't be good leadership. As the F-Rec's department manager, I have to know everything that has to do with the software. Or at least, I should.
"Should we call someone?" Tim asks again. He points at the screen in the far corner. "They're going to kill them!"
Despite everyone's intense training during the onboarding process, the fear in the control room is real. The truth is, we are all programmers with different skills. Tim, for example, works on constantly updating the code so F-Rec can bypass the firewalls with ease and gain access to the vast collection of videos. He also spends a lot of time making sure that F-Rec correctly unblurs the pictures without adding unnecessary facial features that would impede the software's goal of locating criminals.
We might not have directly written all the code, but we have watched it long enough that we can perform most of its functions manually. In some instances, such as this one, it's beneficial. In others, not so much. Like right now when my mind can't separate the screams from the facts or even the faces of the people who are in grave danger of dying.
"This is live!" Tim exclaims, pushing out of his chair. "Fuck, Cassie. We have to call someone!"
"Sit down, Timothy," I tell him with forced calmness. I can't let my team see my fear. I'm in control here, and I have to act like it. "Do I need to remind you that you're under contract?"
Tim's face pales, and he shrinks back in the white, padded computer chair.
"People are going to die," Tim hisses. "We should at least try to do something."
"There is no 'we' in this scenario," I reply. "I will take care of this. I'll bring this matter up the ladder."
Tim rolls his chair closer to his screen. "That guy is begging them to release his wife and kids, and they don't care. We can't look the other way just because—"
I smash my fist into his keyboard. I know the consequences, and I accept them as the keys crack into metal and plastic fragments. I don't often express my emotions, but right now, I'm out of options.
When my heart rate finally slows, I lift my gaze to meet Tim's. He's afraid of me. Or at least, he appears to be.
What would I know? My track record with trusting men is spotty.
My anger, though, is unavoidable.
He knows that he pushed me too far. Before I broke up with him, we'd been dating for nearly two years. He was my longest relationship. If he doesn't know how to read my tells, then no one does.
I'm still trying to find the words, but before I can say anything, he spins around. I grab his elbow. The sudden contact makes him lift his gaze. I look into his eyes, wanting him to see my unhappiness with him. I won't be questioned in front of my team. He allows himself too much leeway because we've dated.
"Go. Back. To. Work," I hiss, making sure each word comes out sharp and precise.
My point is emphasized when one of my technicians quietly taps on his keyboard as if nothing just happened. There will be talk. Even now, sitting silent and still, we might have an audience of half a dozen people who’ve taken off their headphones to pay closer attention to us.
"Yes, ma'am," he mumbles and resumes his position.
I straighten my back and look around the room.
The tech people are all hunched over their screens, shoulders slightly raised, their bodies on high alert. They're wary of being singled out. Programmers normally work as a unit, and no one wants to be named or put on the spot.
"You all know what your job is," I say, raising my voice so everyone can hear. "There are billions of videos recorded every day. We have to organize the footage as best as we can and delete the useless trash. It's important that we keep our database up to date. Write the code and upload the videos for our content specialists to review them."
I glance around the room at the nearly two hundred faces. I've handpicked my team of programmers and divided them into groups with varying tasks. The faces are lit by the several monitors on their desks, and even more screens mounted on the walls.
"I'll go see what can be done about the live stream," I say, understanding their need for reassurance. It's one thing seeing people die in the movies, and an entirely different one knowing that the footage we're watching is not only real, but it's happening at this very moment. "I'll be back."
I go to the back of the room, which is big enough to have two hundred desks for the same number of workers assigned to them. The stairs at the back of the room lead into the office, which is four feet higher and has glass floor-to-ceiling windows that give me a clear view of my team.
Even before I reach my office, I take my cell phone out of my pocket.
"Mr. Grey's office. How may I help you?"
"Harper? It's me, Cassie," I say, my voice trembling. "I need to speak to Mr. Grey."
"Oh, Cassie." There's a low whimper before she picks herself back up. "Mr. Grey isn't in the habit of speaking to people outside of his inner circle of department heads, and even if he was, right now isn't a good time."
I open the glass door with only one hand and lock it shut behind me. Without anyone entering, I stumble to the black leather chair behind the shiny mahogany desk that stands like a small island in this place.
"I get that," I say with a sigh. "You know me, Harper. I was the one who helped you get the job. I need you to listen to me when I tell you that I need to speak to Mr. Grey. It's very important, and it's vital that no one else knows about it."
"Maybe if you tell me what this is about, I can convince Mr. Grey to squeeze you in," Harper suggests. Her words sound shaky despite her best intentions to sound calm.
"It's about something I've seen on F-Rec," I reply, careful not to reveal too much. The rumor mill will be running soon enough, and I have to make sure Mr. Grey knows about it before the rest of the company. "You know about what happens if one of us goes above our heads."
There's silence.
"Mr. Grey mentioned something about F-Rec this morning," Harper says, sounding like she's thinking out loud.
"It must be connected to what I've seen," I push. "I don't want to risk blowing things out of proportion, but from what I just saw, it might be something that our boss should be aware of."
"You're scaring me, Cassie," Harper says.
I'm surprised she wasn't scared before this.
"Can you get me in to talk to him?" I ask.
"As a matter of fact," Harper starts. I can hear the rustling of papers, indicating that she's doing something to help me. "Mr. Grey's brother just left. If you hurry, you can catch him alone before anyone else comes."
"I'm on my way," I say, already rising from my chair. The glass walls hold a semblance of privacy and yet a measure of transparency. I hope to be spared from explaining myself, but my only priority is to inform Mr. Grey about the live stream as fast as possible.
"Please keep him there if he looks like he's about to leave."
"Mr. Grey leaves when he wants to," Harper says.
That's the truth. We all know he is even more powerful than the sound of his name. I just hope that today of all days, he doesn't decide to leave the office early.
"Do what you can," I reply and hang up.
Not wanting to waste another minute, I exit my office.
"Makayla is in charge while I'm gone," I tell those in the immediate area.
She is one of the supervisors. But not the only one. Two hundred programmers need more than one person to keep them on their toes and on schedule. I trust Makayla, though, more than the others. She doesn't let her private matters mix in her professional life. She does the job well, and I feel more comfortable leaving her in charge since her record speaks for itself.
Without saying much else, I head out of the control room. I won't allow the distraction of small talk to stop me. People will gossip and the rumors will spread. I'm certain of that, but I can't let that stop me from bringing the news to the top floor first.
Just like our technology and knowledge are constantly evolving, so is our organizational structure. Long gone are the days when the tech geeks worked in the basement and didn't leave their chairs until the job was done.
Most offices use an open-space concept, and Grey Tech is no exception. The company building has fifty floors, each structured so that each employee has a desk and a way to contribute to the business.
Employees mostly don't even have office doors or separate cubicles, but because my security clearance gives me access to the full floor, I have an office that overlooks it. It's more for symbolic reasons than anything else. I spend most of the time on the floor with my programmers, running their day-to-day tasks.
Even though I'm taking the elevator from the thirty-seventh floor, the ride up still takes what feels like an eternity.
When the doors finally open, it's not Harper who greets me, but a black-haired, dark-eyed man. Of course, I recognize him immediately, but not because I've seen him in person before.
Graham Grey is something of a celebrity. He’s a god to everyone in the tech world, and the most desired bachelor for the rest of the world. He's nothing short of a genius.
My eyes widen when he takes a step toward me and offers me his hand. "Miss Strayed?"
His towering height forces me to look up, and when I shake his hand, my much smaller one completely disappears inside his giant fist.
I gulp. I'm not used to physical contact with a stranger or people in general, but being overly exposed to his charms sends shockwaves through my body. So, this is what normal girls go crazy for. Graham Grey might finally make me understand why some people prefer real life over a virtual one.
Damn, I'm so fucked.
Forcing my uneasiness down, I give him a strong handshake and look him straight in the eye. "I'm so glad I caught you before you left, Mr. Grey."
"I've been told you have an important piece of information to share. Something that can’t wait," he replies, keeping my hand imprisoned inside his grip.
His touch is too hot and makes me sweat, and not in the sexy times kind of way. My mouth goes dry, and my free arm starts to tremble. Why? What is he doing to me?
"The F-Rec's live footage—"
In an instant, he gets his point across.
His gaze turns stormy, his eyes darkening.
His fingers curl tighter around my palm until I'm afraid he might crush it.
"Come into my office," he says and leads me by my hand to the left.
He’s dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit, paired with a matching tie and crisp white shirt. The muscles beneath his clothes ripple with power, leaving me no choice but to trail after him like a lost little girl.
No, not like a little girl, I correct myself. I'm a full-grown woman, and I know how to stand up for myself.
Mr. Grey, on the other hand, isn't about to give me a chance to act on my sudden resolve. He is so focused on leading me to his office that his whole posture has changed. He is no longer my boss, a successful businessman, a tech genius, or the most eligible bachelor. He has shifted into a military-like stance with the alertness of a predator with every bit of energy inside his bones.
Maybe I should be scared.
It takes me a while to register Harper as we pass her desk. I cast her a helpless glance, trying to free myself from Mr. Grey's hold, but it only make my fingers hurt even more. It's like trying to uncurl a fist from a cast.
It is no wonder so many women are willing to have his baby. Not that I've considered it.
Focus, Cassie.
Right. I'm not here to bang Mr. Grey, even if my lady parts were recently awakened.
"After you, Miss Strayed," Mr. Grey finally says as he releases my hand.
My heart is drumming loudly as I get inside. He shows me to a chair.
He still moves like a force of nature as he approaches the leather seat behind his obsidian desk. Once he passes the line of monitors on the left and the wall of windows on the right side of his office, his face goes deadly pale.
He spins his chair around to peer over his broad shoulder. But if he hopes to watch my reaction, he's dead wrong.
The giant screen on the wall in front of me displays the footage of a single home surrounded by mountainous wilderness. In the middle of the clearing, a group of masked men holds a group of innocent people hostage.
Six men surround the family of five. By the looks of them, there are three kids along with their parents. Their clothes make it clear that they come from a good family.
The guy is talking to the masked men, frantically gesturing at his wife and kids. He sinks to his knees, his hands clasped together as he pleads for their lives.
The woman begs as well, crying and gesturing with her right hand, cradling the baby boy to her chest with her left. Tears trail down her cheeks. She is petrified and praying the criminals would just take her instead. The older boy is shadowing her, his eyes wide with fear.
The younger girl has stopped her fussing and is cradling her stuffed doll. The woman with the baby bends her knee, hiding the girl behind it as if that will protect them. The girl hides her face into the fabric of her mother's pants, and the woman lowers herself to crouch over the young girl. The father looks behind himself for help that won't come.
"Is that what you wanted to talk to me about?" Mr. Grey's grating voice comes from behind me.
I tear my gaze away from the screen and gasp when I see my boss, Mr. Grey watching the footage with an unreadable expression on his face. Though there's a tightness in his frame, his eyes reveal no more emotion.
Strangely, I don't find that disturbing. Quite the opposite. I know from experience that emotions are poisonous, and I would rather never let myself be affected by them.
Even though I hate tears, I realize my face is wet from crying. That little girl reminds me too much of myself. Of a childhood I never had. An innocence I'd lost far too soon. An ignorance that's only present when I am actively forcing myself to forget the past that haunts me to this very day. An abusive father and a drug-addicted mother. It's a perfect combo. No wonder I have trust issues.
Wiping my cheeks with the back of my hand, I search for Mr. Grey's gaze. I didn't even see him move from his chair, and yet, he managed to come up from behind me. He found a new place to sit, perched on the edge of his black, suede sofa. He nods once to acknowledge my reaction and then pats the spot next to him.
My hands shaking, I rise on unsteady legs, my calves stiff from so many hours in front of a computer screen. I drop to the sofa, making sure to keep plenty of space between us. It's not an easy task considering his massive size.
A warm hand comes to rest on mine. Mr. Grey's fingers brush my knuckles, but for the first time in a long time, a person's touch doesn't make me panic. It's a very strange sensation. Usually, I hate being close to other people, and that is definitely connected to my reluctance to live in the real world, but right now, that need to crawl out of my own skin and to stay as far away from them as possible isn't so prominent.
Stroking my wrist gently, he leaves his hand where it is.
"It'll be fine, Miss Strayed," he says softly. "It's about time you and I got to meet."
Right. Sure. The live stream is clearly doing just wonderful, and apparently, that gives us time to get to know one another.
"Yes. We do need to talk," I agree, silently asking him not to change the subject. "I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I'm afraid that F-Rec has been compromised."
Mr. Grey's demeanor shifts. He tenses, makes a move to shift away, but then lets out a breath and says, "I believe you."
His gaze swings toward the screen and stares intently at it. Neither one of us truly stops watching the live stream. They seem to be waiting for something or someone.
"You do?" I ask in surprise. I thought he was going to need more convincing.
"People seem to forget that it's my software, Miss Strayed," he says with a sad smile. "I wrote it, therefore, I know everything about it. Including the fact that it was hacked and is now being used to commit atrocious acts."
While I knew that, I didn't know that he kept up to date with it. Not when he has a multi-billion-dollar corporation to run.
"I've been going through the code to try to find the bug, but so far, I haven't had much luck," Mr. Grey tells me, and I can't believe I'm even thinking this, but talking tech with him makes him infinitely hotter than he already is. "You better get comfortable, Miss Strayed. We have a lot to discuss. I certainly hope you're not against working long and late hours right here with me."
My mouth falls open.
I can't believe what I'm hearing.
This must be a dream.
Yeah, I must've fallen asleep behind my desk and woken up in an alternate reality where my boss suggested that I help him save his software by practically spending all my nights with him. If I didn't trust the credibility of the live footage, I'd have had a difficult time believing this is reality.
"Miss Strayed?" Mr. Grey asks, tilting his head to the side. "I'm going to need your help."
Oh, yes. This is definitely some women's fantasy.
But because it isn't mine, I clear my throat and say, "I'll do whatever it takes to bring the people responsible for threatening that family behind bars."