Eva

15

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The email sits in my inbox like a bomb waiting to explode. The subject line, vague yet chilling, reads: "You need to know the truth." It’s from an untraceable account, but the contents are enough to make my pulse race.

The sender claims to be someone inside Kane Enterprises, someone who’s seen Mercer’s plans firsthand. Attached are encrypted files that, according to the email, will expose not only Mercer’s involvement but also ties to someone even higher up. The final line of the email sends a shiver down my spine:

"Don’t trust anyone. If they find out, it’s over for me—and for you."

My fingers hover over the mouse. The weight of the decision feels suffocating. Whoever sent this knows too much—about me, about Dominic, about Kane Enterprises. The risk feels like stepping into quicksand, but the promise of answers is too tempting to ignore. With a deep breath, I click open.

“What’s wrong?” Dominic’s voice cuts through my thoughts. I jump slightly, startled. He’s leaning against the doorframe, his gaze sharp and assessing.

I hesitate, torn between closing the email and coming clean. Every instinct screams to keep this to myself, but I know how that will play out. He’ll find out, and his anger will eclipse any progress we’ve made.

“I got a tip,” I say finally, forcing my voice to stay even.

His eyes narrow, suspicion shadowing his features. “What kind of tip?”

“Someone inside your company,” I admit. “They sent me files. They claim Mercer is involved and have proof.”

Dominic closes the distance between us in three long strides. His presence looms as he leans over my shoulder, his intensity filling the space. Without asking, he pulls the laptop closer and scans the email, his jaw tightening as he reads.

“Encrypted,” he mutters. “Do you even know how to open these?”

“I have software,” I snap, defensive. “But it’ll take time. Decrypting something this complex isn’t exactly instant.”

His jaw tightens further, his mind clearly racing. “This could be a setup.”

“Or it could be the break we’ve been waiting for,” I counter, meeting his gaze.

Our eyes lock in a silent battle of wills, his piercing blue eyes searching mine. For once, neither of us backs down.

Finally, he sighs, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly. “We’ll do it your way—for now. But I’m not letting you handle this alone.”

Two Hours Later

The files finally decrypt, and the tension in the room becomes almost tangible. The whistleblower wasn’t bluffing.

The documents outline payments from a shadow account linked to Mercer, funneled through subsidiaries into what appears to be a dummy corporation. The trail is intricate, deliberate, and damning.

“This,” I say, pointing to the screen, “isn’t just sabotage. Mercer’s been bleeding your company dry for years.”

Dominic leans over my shoulder, his breath warm against my neck as he studies the screen. “And this corporation,” he says, tapping the name, “it’s registered overseas. Cayman Islands. That’s Mercer’s style—keep everything far enough away to avoid suspicion.”

I glance up at him, surprised. “You’ve suspected him before, haven’t you?”

He straightens, his expression hardening. “I’ve suspected a lot of people. Mercer was just careful enough to stay out of the spotlight—until now.”

“Then this is it,” I say, determination hardening my voice. “This is the proof you need to bring him down.”

But Dominic doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he stares at the screen, his jaw clenched.

“What is it?” I ask, stepping closer to him.

“If Mercer’s involved, he’s not working alone,” Dominic says, his voice low. “Someone’s been protecting him, keeping him hidden. If we push too hard, we’ll tip our hand before we have the full picture.”

The weight of his words settles over me like a lead blanket. He’s right. Mercer might be a key player, but he’s not the endgame.

“So what do we do?” I ask.

“We tread carefully,” Dominic says, his gaze locking onto mine. “And we trust no one.”

The Next Morning

The eerie sensation of being watched clings to me, heavier than before. I’ve checked my inbox three times already, hoping for another email. Nothing.

No follow-up. No additional files. Nothing but silence.

“What’s wrong?” Dominic asks, his tone sharp as he steps into the living room.

“The whistleblower hasn’t responded,” I say, turning my laptop toward him. “They said they’d send more.”

His expression darkens, his eyes narrowing at the screen. “Or someone got to them.”

The thought makes my stomach churn. I bite my lip, trying to steady my voice. “We need to find out who they are. If they’re in danger, we can’t just sit here.”

Dominic doesn’t argue, which surprises me. Instead, he grabs his phone and dials Adrian.

“Run a trace on this email,” he orders, rattling off the address. “I want to know where it came from and who sent it. Now.”

Adrian’s response is swift and efficient, as always. “I’m on it,” he says before the call ends.

By Midday

Adrian calls back with news that sends a chill down my spine.

“The email was sent from a private server,” he says, his voice clipped. “But the IP address traces back to an apartment complex downtown.”

“Do you have an exact address?” Dominic asks, his tone icy.

“I do,” Adrian says. “But there’s a problem.”

“What kind of problem?” Dominic demands.

“The place has been ransacked,” Adrian says grimly. “Whoever sent that email—they’re gone.”

The words hit like a physical blow, knocking the breath from my lungs.

“They’re gone?” I echo, my voice trembling. “Did they run, or—”

“We don’t know,” Adrian interrupts. “But from the state of the apartment, it doesn’t look voluntary.”

My legs feel weak, and Dominic steadies me with a firm hand on my arm.

“We need to see it,” I say, my voice laced with determination.

Dominic hesitates, his protectiveness warring with the urgency of the situation. Finally, he nods. “Adrian, meet us there. Bring backup.”

The Apartment

The apartment door hangs ajar, the splintered wood a stark reminder of violence. Inside, the scene is chaotic—papers scattered across the floor, drawers yanked out, a laptop smashed in the corner.

Adrian meets us at the door, his expression grim. “Whoever did this was thorough,” he says. “But they missed one thing.”

He leads us to a small safe hidden behind a loose wall panel. Inside is a single flash drive.

Dominic grabs it, his jaw tightening. “Let’s go.”

Back at the Penthouse

The flash drive’s contents churn my stomach. A single video file plays on the laptop, its stark imagery cutting through the silence.

The whistleblower appears, their face obscured by shadows. Their voice is low and urgent.

“If you’re watching this, it means they found me,” they say. “But you still have a chance. Follow the money. It will lead you to Mercer—and beyond him, to the one pulling the strings.”

The video ends abruptly, leaving the room in suffocating quiet.

“This just got a lot more dangerous,” Dominic growls, pacing the room like a caged predator. His tension radiates off him in waves.

I meet his gaze, my frustration boiling over. “That person—whoever they were—risked everything to send us this. And now they’re gone. What happens when Mercer figures out we have it?”

Dominic stops pacing, turning to me with piercing intensity. “That’s why we move carefully. Whoever’s behind this knows too much. They’ve already proven they’ll do whatever it takes to cover their tracks.”

“So, what?” I snap. “We wait until they come for us?”

“No,” he says firmly, stepping closer. “We follow the lead. But we don’t act until we’re sure. If we tip them off, we’ll lose any chance of finding the truth.”

The weight of his words settles over me as I watch him retreat to his office. The whistleblower’s warning echoes in my mind: "Follow the money. It will lead you to Mercer—and beyond him, to the one pulling the strings."

And for the first time, I realize just how deep this conspiracy goes—and how little time we have left to stop it.

The flash drive still sits on the table, its presence unnerving. The whistleblower’s warning plays on a loop in my mind. “Follow the money. It will lead you to Mercer—and beyond him, to the one pulling the strings.”

Dominic disappears into his office, shutting the door firmly behind him. The tension between us hasn’t faded—it’s simmering beneath the surface, a volatile undercurrent that neither of us is willing to confront right now. I glance at the laptop screen, the final frame of the video frozen in place. Whoever sent this risked everything to help us. And now, they’re gone.

The weight of their sacrifice hangs heavy in the air, fueling my determination. If they believed in the importance of this trail, then I owe it to them to see it through.

I scroll through the documents, cross-referencing the whistleblower’s files with the data I decrypted earlier. Each line of text, every transaction, feels like a piece of a massive puzzle. The dummy corporations, the offshore accounts, the shadowy network of entities—there’s a pattern here, I can feel it.

But finding it is like trying to spot constellations in a storm.

An Unexpected Breakthrough

Hours slip by. The penthouse grows quieter as the city outside fades into the night. My back aches from leaning over the laptop, but I can’t stop. I pull up another spreadsheet, tracing another set of transactions.

And then I see it.

A cluster of payments funneling into a single account under the guise of “consulting fees.” The amounts are consistent, and the recipient is a name I don’t recognize: Falcon Consulting.

My heart pounds. “Falcon.”

Dominic’s voice echoes in my head: “Whoever Falcon is, they’re not afraid to get their hands dirty.”

I dive deeper, pulling every thread I can find. The payments don’t lead directly to Mercer—of course, they wouldn’t. But they loop back into Aurora International Holdings. Mercer’s fingerprints are all over this, even if he’s not the mastermind.

Before I can analyze further, Dominic’s office door opens. His presence fills the room as he strides toward me, his expression grim.

“What did you find?” he asks, his voice low and controlled.

I turn the laptop toward him, pointing to the screen. “Look at this. Falcon Consulting. The payments tie back to Aurora.”

Dominic leans over, his sharp eyes scanning the data. His jaw tightens, the muscles ticking in silent anger. “That name again. Adrian flagged it weeks ago, but we couldn’t connect it to anyone specific.”

“Well, now we can,” I say, my voice firm. “This is our link to Mercer—and whoever’s above him.”

Dominic straightens, his posture rigid. “If Falcon’s tied to Aurora, then we’re dealing with something bigger than we thought. This isn’t just about sabotaging Kane Enterprises. It’s about dismantling it piece by piece.”

A Call in the Dark

The unease in the room deepens as Dominic grabs his phone, dialing Adrian. I listen as he relays the discovery, his voice clipped and efficient.

“We need to know who’s behind Falcon Consulting,” Dominic says. “Dig into their records, their clients—anything that gives us a name.”

Adrian’s response is faint through the receiver, but I catch enough to know he’s already on it.

Dominic hangs up and turns to me. “Adrian will follow the trail. In the meantime, we need to assume Falcon knows we’re closing in.”

“Assume or confirm?” I ask, my stomach twisting.

“Assume,” Dominic says, his tone hard. “And prepare for the worst.”

The words hit like a warning bell. The stakes are rising, and the noose around us is tightening.

Late-Night Tensions

The clock ticks past midnight, the air in the penthouse heavy with tension. Dominic works quietly at the kitchen island, reviewing documents on his tablet, while I sit nearby, scrolling through files on my laptop.

I steal a glance at him, his focus unrelenting. For all his arrogance and control, there’s a vulnerability in his determination that I’ve never seen before. He’s fighting for more than just his company—he’s fighting for the identity he built brick by brick.

“You should get some rest,” he says suddenly, not looking up.

I blink, startled. “So should you.”

He doesn’t respond, his attention still fixed on the screen.

“I’m serious,” I say, closing my laptop. “You can’t fight this war on caffeine and sheer willpower alone.”

His lips twitch in what might be the ghost of a smile, but it’s fleeting. “I’ve done it before.”

“That doesn’t mean you should,” I counter.

He finally looks at me, his blue eyes shadowed with exhaustion. “, the people coming for us aren’t going to stop. If I don’t keep moving, we lose.”

I shake my head, exasperated. “And what happens if you burn out? What good are you then?”

His gaze softens slightly, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he sets the tablet down and crosses the room, leaning against the counter.

“I don’t have the luxury of stopping,” he says quietly.

The vulnerability in his voice catches me off guard. I want to press, to understand the weight he’s carrying, but before I can say anything, his phone buzzes.

He answers immediately, his expression darkening as Adrian speaks.

“Falcon’s account activity just spiked,” Dominic says after hanging up. “They’re moving money—big amounts.”

“Where?” I ask, my pulse quickening.

“Out of the Caymans,” Dominic replies. “To a subsidiary in Zurich.”

“Zurich?” I repeat, frowning. “That’s not just laundering. That’s consolidation.”

“Exactly,” he says, grabbing his jacket. “They’re preparing to disappear.”

“Wait,” I say, standing. “What are you doing?”

“Cutting them off,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“I’m coming with you,” I say firmly.

“No,” Dominic snaps. “It’s too dangerous.”

“I don’t care,” I fire back. “I’m in this just as much as you are. If Falcon’s making moves, we need to know why.”

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t argue further. Instead, he motions for me to follow.

A Tense Confrontation

The ride through the city is tense and quiet, the weight of what we’re walking into pressing down on both of us. Dominic navigates the dark streets with the precision of someone used to high-stakes situations, but even he can’t hide the tension in his grip on the wheel.

We pull up outside a nondescript office building. The lights are on, but the street is eerily quiet.

“This is where Adrian traced the transfer,” Dominic says, parking. “Stay close. If anything feels off, we leave.”

I nod, my heart pounding as we step out of the car.

The building’s interior is stark and sterile, a maze of hallways that all look the same. Dominic leads the way, his movements deliberate and measured.

When we reach the office in question, the door is ajar. Inside, the room is empty—except for a single laptop on a bare desk.

“This feels like a trap,” I whisper.

Dominic nods, his gaze scanning the room. “Stay here.”

He steps forward, his shoulders tense as he approaches the laptop. The screen lights up with a blinking cursor, and then a message appears:

"You’re closer than you think. But not close enough."

Dominic curses under his breath as the screen goes dark.

“What does that mean?” I ask, my voice trembling.

“It means they’re watching us,” Dominic says, his voice low and dangerous. “And they’re not done yet.”

The weight of the moment settles over me as we leave the office. Whoever Falcon is, they’re always one step ahead. And as Dominic’s phone buzzes with another alert, I realize the game we’re playing isn’t just about Kane Enterprises anymore.

It’s about survival.