Dominic

2

__________

The sound of my footsteps echoes in the empty hallway as I head to my office, each step reverberating with the weight of the evening. My team knows better than to approach me when I’m in this mood. Even the night staff limit their greetings to quiet nods. I acknowledge none of them. My focus is locked on the events of the gala and, more specifically, on her.

Eva Stone.

Reckless. Bold. Disrespectful. And interesting.

It’s rare for anyone to catch me off guard, and I haven’t decided if her audacity was impressive or foolish. Probably both. Her question about the sabotage wasn’t unexpected—I’ve been dodging reporters for weeks—but her delivery lingered. She wielded confidence like a weapon, sharp and deliberate. Women like her don’t usually make it into my world. Most either fawn or flee.

I step into my office, the doors hissing shut behind me. The space is a sanctuary of glass and steel, perched on the top floor of the Kane Enterprises tower. The city sprawls below, its lights glittering like scattered stars across the darkness. Up here, I should feel untouchable. Tonight, though, the walls feel thinner than usual.

“Mr. Kane,” Adrian’s voice crackles from the desk speaker, pulling me from my thoughts. “The latest incident report is ready for review.”

“Send it up,” I reply, loosening my tie as I sink into the leather chair behind my desk.

The laptop screen springs to life beneath my fingertips, its cool glow casting sharp shadows across the room. My inbox is a battlefield—security updates, messages from the board demanding answers, and reports from my tech team struggling to keep up with the escalating attacks. Each breach feels personal, as though someone is deliberately targeting me—not just my company.

Tonight’s exchange with Eva did little to ease my frustration. Her questions were pointed, her tone sharp, but I can’t shake the feeling that she’s more than just another journalist chasing headlines. She’s digging for something deeper—something she shouldn’t be looking for.

The incident report pings onto my screen, and I scan the details with a practiced eye. Another leak. This time, it’s prototype designs for one of our flagship products—a piece of technology we haven’t even announced yet. The designs appeared on an obscure forum, accompanied by a taunting message:

“Kane’s secrets are no longer safe.”

I clench my jaw, forcing myself to stay calm. This isn’t just corporate espionage. It’s sabotage, calculated and relentless. Whoever is behind this doesn’t just want to hurt Kane Enterprises—they want to humiliate me.

The speaker buzzes again. “Adrian is here to see you,” my assistant says.

“Send him in.”

Adrian steps into the office, his expression grim. A former military intelligence officer, Adrian is unflappable, methodical, and sharp as a blade. If he looks worried, I know the situation warrants it.

“We’ve identified the source of the latest leak,” he says, placing a tablet on my desk. “It originated from one of our Tier-One servers at the Dallas data center. The breach occurred at approximately 3:00 a.m. local time.”

“How did they get in?” I ask, scrolling through the data.

“We’re still investigating, but it appears to be an external access point. The logs show a highly coordinated attack—advanced, precise. Whoever did this knew exactly where to strike.”

“An inside job?” My tone sharpens.

“It’s possible,” Adrian admits. “We’re running background checks on all employees with access to that server. But there’s something else you need to see.”

He taps the tablet, pulling up an intercepted message. The words flash across the screen, cold and deliberate:

“Your empire is crumbling, Kane. Time to watch it burn.”

The message hits harder than I expect, though I keep my expression neutral. This isn’t just another skilled hacker. This is someone brazen enough to taunt me, confident enough to think they can get away with it.

“Do we have any leads?” I ask.

“Not yet,” Adrian says. “The message was routed through multiple proxy servers, each one more secure than the last. Tracing it will take time.”

“Time isn’t a luxury we have,” I snap.

Adrian doesn’t flinch. “We’re doing everything we can, sir. But there’s something else. It’s about the journalist you encountered tonight.”

“Eva Stone,” I say, leaning back.

“She’s been investigating the sabotage rumors for at least a week. She’s contacted several of your former employees, including Martin Caldwell.”

“Caldwell.” The name is familiar, though not fondly. “The engineer we fired six months ago?”

Adrian nods. “For breaching confidentiality agreements. Stone interviewed him yesterday, and according to our surveillance, he’s been flagged in connection to the Dallas breach.”

The pieces click into place, though the picture they form remains incomplete. Eva Stone. Caldwell. The escalating attacks. This isn’t just coincidence.

Adrian leaves, and the silence of my office feels heavier than usual. I stare at the encrypted message on the tablet, its taunting words practically daring me to act. Whoever orchestrated this isn’t hiding in the shadows—they’re making their move in plain sight. It’s personal. And I intend to make it personal for them, too.

For a moment, my thoughts drift back to Eva. Her determination was evident tonight, but there was something else beneath her confidence—something raw and vulnerable. She’s not like the vultures who circle my company, hungry for scraps of scandal. She’s hunting for something bigger.

But if she keeps digging, she’ll find herself in over her head. And I’m not sure if I can—or should—protect her from what’s coming.

The laptop screen flashes as a new email arrives. My breath stills as I open it, the words leaping off the screen:

“Your empire is crumbling, Kane. Time to watch it burn.”

The same message, but this time there’s an attachment. My stomach tightens as I open it, a series of stolen documents spilling onto the screen—blueprints, financial records, internal emails. The final file stops me cold: a photograph of me speaking to Eva at the gala.

The angle suggests it was taken from across the room, but the timing is precise.

My jaw tightens, anger simmering beneath the surface. Whoever this is, they’ve crossed a line. I save the image to a secure drive and forward it to Adrian with a simple note: “Find out who took this.”

The rest of the night passes in a blur of investigations and unanswered questions. By the time dawn breaks, one thing is clear: this isn’t just about my company anymore. Someone is targeting me, and they’ve marked Eva Stone as a part of their game.

She doesn’t realize it yet, but she’s in danger. And whether I like it or not, her survival might now depend on me.

The message and the attached photograph replay in my mind like a relentless drumbeat. Whoever orchestrated this has made one thing clear—they’re watching. Not just me, but Eva too.

I close the email and turn to the window. The city stretches endlessly before me, alive with lights and motion, but it feels smaller tonight, boxed in by the walls of this conflict. I’m not used to being on the defensive. It doesn’t sit well.

The thought of Eva lingers. Her confidence at the gala was undeniable, but her vulnerability was equally apparent. She has no idea what she’s stepped into. If Caldwell spoke to her, even hinted at what he knows, she’s in more danger than she realizes.

I pace the length of the office, the familiar rhythm grounding me as my mind churns. Caldwell is a weak link, a loose end I should’ve cut months ago. But Eva? She’s an anomaly, unpredictable and stubborn. Her determination might drive her deeper into the storm—into territory where even I can’t protect her.

Adrian’s tablet buzzes on my desk, breaking the silence. I stride over and glance at the update he’s sent. A detailed file on Matthew Lang, the so-called photographer from the gala.

The background check is thin. Too thin.

“Freelance photographer.” That’s the label he used to blend into the crowd, but Adrian’s report confirms what I suspected—his identity is fabricated. The name is linked to a series of one-off contracts, none of which stand up to scrutiny. Lang is a ghost, and ghosts don’t show up uninvited unless they have a reason.

The report also lists surveillance footage from the hotel. I open it and scrub through the timestamps, my eyes narrowing as I spot Lang weaving through the crowd. He moves with precision, never lingering too long in one place.

But it’s not me he’s watching.

It’s Eva.

The footage shows him positioning himself near her at several points during the evening. When she spoke to me, he stood at a distance, his attention unwavering. A chill spreads through me as I pause the video on a frame of Lang holding his phone up, likely taking the photograph that ended up in my inbox.

The email wasn’t just a taunt. It was a statement. Lang—or whoever he’s working for—wants me to know that Eva is a pawn in their game.

Adrian answers on the second ring. “Sir.”

“Lang wasn’t there for me,” I say, skipping formalities. “His focus was on Eva Stone.”

There’s a pause before Adrian replies, his tone measured. “That would explain why he didn’t interact with anyone else. We’re still analyzing his movements, but it’s clear he was tracking her.”

“Expand your search,” I instruct. “Lang isn’t working alone. Someone sent him there, and I want to know who.”

“Yes, sir. And the second individual, Sophia Calder—we’ve confirmed her departure from the gala aligns with Lang’s. They left within minutes of each other, using separate exits.”

“Track them both,” I say. “And make Eva Stone a priority. I want to know where she is at all times.”

“Understood.”

The line goes dead, and I stare at the paused frame of Lang. His gaze is predatory, calculating. He’s not a journalist or a freelancer. He’s a threat, and threats require immediate action.

The hours blur into early morning, my office bathed in the pale gray light of dawn. I haven’t slept, but adrenaline sharpens my focus. The pieces are moving, shifting into position. Lang, Calder, Caldwell, Eva—they’re all connected, though the full picture remains elusive.

A knock at the door pulls me from my thoughts. It’s Adrian, holding a tablet loaded with new intel.

“What do you have?” I ask, waving him in.

“We traced Lang’s movements after the gala,” he begins, setting the tablet on my desk. “He boarded a flight to Chicago two hours after leaving the hotel. We’re cross-referencing passenger manifests and surveillance from O’Hare, but so far, no additional sightings.”

“And Calder?”

“She returned to her apartment in Midtown,” Adrian says. “We’ve flagged her financials and communications, but nothing stands out yet. She’s careful, which suggests experience.”

I nod, scanning the report. “What about Eva?”

“She’s still at her apartment,” Adrian says. “No unusual activity overnight, but I’d recommend assigning surveillance.”

I hesitate. Surveillance is standard protocol, but with Eva, it feels different. Watching her, even for her own safety, crosses a line I’m not sure I want to breach.

But then I remember the photograph—the way Lang’s attention zeroed in on her.

“Do it,” I say finally. “Discreetly. I don’t want her knowing.”

Adrian nods, his expression unreadable. “Understood.”

When Adrian leaves, I lean back in my chair, my mind circling the same question: Why Eva?

She’s a journalist, yes, but one with no obvious ties to the sabotage targeting Kane Enterprises. Was her interview with Caldwell enough to make her a target? Or is she simply in the wrong place at the wrong time?

The latter seems unlikely. Whoever is behind this doesn’t rely on coincidence.

I pull up Eva’s profile on my laptop, reviewing her work with a more critical eye. Her articles reveal a pattern—she doesn’t just report on events; she exposes truths. Corruption, cover-ups, power plays. She’s relentless, unafraid to challenge the people who hold the most influence.

The kind of person who would dig until she found what she was looking for, no matter the cost.

Her fire is admirable, even if it’s misplaced. But it’s also dangerous. In the wrong hands, her determination could be weaponized against her—and against me.

The sun rises higher, casting long shadows across my office. My phone buzzes, breaking the quiet.

It’s Adrian again.

“Sir, we’ve identified a connection between Calder and Lang,” he says. “They worked together on a cybersecurity project for one of your competitors two years ago. Calder was contracted to test vulnerabilities, and Lang provided physical surveillance.”

“Mercenaries,” I say, the word heavy with disdain.

“Essentially, yes,” Adrian replies. “Their involvement suggests whoever hired them has significant resources.”

My grip on the phone tightens. “Keep digging. I want to know who’s pulling their strings.”

“There’s one more thing,” Adrian says, his tone shifting. “Eva Stone left her apartment an hour ago. She’s heading to an address tied to Martin Caldwell.”

The news hits like a punch to the gut. Eva doesn’t realize how deep she’s already in—or how dangerous Caldwell’s involvement makes her position.

“Where are they meeting?” I ask, already grabbing my coat.

“An apartment complex in the city,” Adrian says, rattling off the address.

“Send a team,” I order. “I’m on my way.”

The drive feels longer than it should, every red light grating against my patience. By the time I arrive at the apartment complex, my frustration has morphed into a simmering anger.

Adrian’s team is already in place, their black SUVs inconspicuous but strategically parked. I step out of my car, my presence drawing immediate attention.

“Where is she?” I ask one of the operatives.

“Inside,” he says, gesturing to the third floor. “Room 3B. We’ve secured the perimeter, but no sign of Lang or Calder.”

I nod and make my way to the building. The air inside is stale, the hallways dimly lit. Each step feels heavier than the last as I approach Caldwell’s door.

I pause outside, listening. Voices filter through the thin wood—Eva’s, sharp and questioning, and Caldwell’s, low and defensive.

She’s pushing him, probing for answers.

I knock once, hard enough to silence the conversation inside.

The door creaks open, and Caldwell’s face pales when he sees me.

“Mr. Kane,” he stammers.

Eva appears behind him, her eyes widening in surprise—and then narrowing with suspicion.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she demands.

“Ensuring your safety,” I reply evenly, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation.

Caldwell backs away, his posture tense. Eva, however, stands her ground, her arms crossed and her expression defiant.

“I don’t need your protection,” she says.

“Clearly, you do,” I counter, my gaze shifting to Caldwell. “Especially if you’re associating with people like him.”

Her jaw tightens, but she doesn’t respond.

“Caldwell,” I say, my tone cutting. “We need to talk. Alone.”

Eva bristles. “If you think I’m leaving—”

“You’re not,” I interrupt. “But you’re not running this conversation, either.”

Her defiance flares again, but she falls silent. Caldwell, on the other hand, looks like he’d rather be anywhere else.

Good. He should be afraid.

I close the door behind me, the tension in the room palpable. Eva may not trust me, but she doesn’t have to—not yet. Right now, keeping her alive is my priority. And if that means playing the villain in her story, so be it.

But as I face Caldwell, one thought lingers: whoever orchestrated this chaos has made their first move. Now it’s my turn.