Chapter 8

Caleb had always been good at compartmentalizing, keeping part of himself hidden while focusing on something else. That trait came in handy now. As much as he wanted to dwell on what had transpired between Roman and him the previous evening, he couldn’t. First, it wouldn’t solve anything because the ball was and always would be in Roman’s court. But more importantly, Caleb had a job to do. And right now, that mattered more than anything else.

Roman’s laptop had quickly surrendered to him, revealing its secrets, and with every layer Caleb peeled back, his confusion grew. He’d expected a high level of security and hadn’t been surprised to find CrowdStrike Falcon installed, a top-of-the-line endpoint security platform. Not only did it employ the most sophisticated antivirus solution available, but it also used AI to analyze the behavioral patterns of its users and, based on that, detect anomalies.

So why the hell hadn’t it done its job and kept the attackers out of Roman’s laptop? The platform was known to be virtually unbeatable to anyone other than those with insider knowledge of the system they were attacking, and even then, it would be a massive challenge. That meant the threat against Roman had come from within his network, or they were dealing with a first-class hacker. Caleb’s money was on the first.

He unlinked the laptop from the network it was attached to and dug into the settings for CrowdStrike. Surely, the system had picked up on abnormal logins, so why hadn’t it alerted the cyber security officer? Caleb checked all the settings one by one, his fingers dancing across the keyboard, the rapid clicks echoing in his small workspace.

He frowned. That was weird. That setting should be… He checked again. It was off. The platform had been installed and analyzing for threats, but it hadn’t been allowed to actually block the attacks. Kinda like an alarm system that detected a burglar but wasn’t allowed to sound the alarm. All notifications were turned off as well, so Roman wouldn’t have gotten a notification for it. But surely, the system administrator had, right?

Caleb checked the notification settings, and his jaw dropped. What the fuck? They were off! Why in the world would anyone ever turn those off? Wasn’t the whole point that you were alerted to attacks as they happened? They’d been flying blind here, the system detecting but not alerting. They’d left the proverbial door wide open.

Wait. The platform had detected and analyzed, hadn’t it? Even if it hadn’t been given permission to warn, it would still have the logs. Caleb rubbed his hands and dug in. When had the incident taken place again? He consulted his notes. Okay, he’d start on that day and work his way back, see if he could spot anything unusual.

CrowdStrike, helpful as it was, offered him an analysis of Roman’s user habits. His usual activity was between eight a.m. and ten p.m. Jesus, the man made long days. No wonder he looked exhausted, but that was beside the point.

Caleb had no trouble finding the moment the files had been changed. Whoever had done it had logged in from the office building and rearranged everything within a timespan of ten minutes. They’d deleted folders, created new ones, dragged and dropped hundreds of files. No wonder Roman had been upset about it. His whole system had been thoroughly destroyed.

What was curious was that it looked like he’d done it himself. No one else had logged in except him, using his username and the IP address from the office. IP addresses could be faked with a first-class VPN connection if you knew what you were doing, which these people obviously did. But they had to have known Roman wouldn’t log in himself, so where had he been during that time? He made a quick note of the exact time.

The hours faded as Caleb worked his way through the logs, which stated when Roman had logged in, what files he had opened, what websites he’d looked at—nothing naughty there, which Caleb had expected from a professional like Roman—and any changes to the system he’d made.

Nothing jumped out, and Caleb was getting a little frustrated when he noticed something unusual. A login at three a.m., two weeks before the file incident. According to the IP address, it was from within Roman’s office building. Would Roman really have been at work in the middle of the night? If he’d been unable to sleep, why hadn’t he logged in from home? No, this didn’t make sense. Whoever had logged on had used a VPN again and had opened at least thirty files within ten minutes—also unusual. From what Caleb had learned, Roman was focused, usually working on a few files for much longer. And all the files were in the same main folder neatly labeled Whitman.

Caleb noted the date and time stamp, then continued looking. He found another similar incident two weeks before that and then two weeks before that, and the truth hit him. They’d been checking on Roman’s progress in the case. His laptop had been compromised for months. Maybe for the whole five months the same people had been threatening him.

No fucking way would the network administrator have missed that, let alone the cybersecurity specialist who had installed CrowdStrike. Which meant… Oh, Roman was gonna be so upset when he found out. Caleb’s stomach clenched. He hated delivering bad news, and this was the worst.

With a deep sigh, he got up and walked over to Wander, who was doing his own investigation into Roman’s case. “Boss, I’ve found a problem. A big one.”

Fifteen minutes later, the whole team was gathered in the meeting room. The air felt tight and dry, but maybe that was because another snowstorm was brewing. Roman sat at the head of the table, tapping his fingers in a nervous rhythm, a tic Caleb was starting to recognize. Although his tailored suit did little to mask the concern etched into Roman’s features, Caleb loved that even here, the man dressed to the nines, like putting on armor every day.

“Caleb, the floor is yours.”

Caleb sat up straight. “I’ve finished going over Roman’s laptop. Someone has been systematically opening and reading the files related to the Whitman investigation, and whoever’s behind this has had full access to his entire laptop for a long time. We’re talking months.”

A collective exhale, a chorus of curses muttered under breaths—the responses varied, but the underlying shock was shared. Roman stopped his rhythmic tapping, his brown eyes locking on Caleb with an intensity that demanded answers.

“They didn’t just sneak through the back door once. They’ve basically been squatting inside the walls the whole time, keeping an eye on what Roman did. They had a key-logging program installed, so they have his passwords and could see everything he was doing.”

There was power in knowledge, in tracing the invisible threads that connected actions and consequences. Caleb thrived in the digital realm, where control was measured in access and codes. But standing there, delivering a blow that stripped away the illusion of security, he wished for the simplicity of a physical fight. At least then, you saw the hit coming.

Roman stiffened, the realization settling in. “How the hell did my guy not catch this?” His voice was a jagged edge, disbelief and accusation twisting his words.

“Your cyber security officer,” he said, his tone measured, “is inept at best, but I suspect he was bought. In fact, he probably planted the spyware since it’s pretty sophisticated stuff, not the level of your run-of-the-mill hacker. Every second you spent building your case was another second they had to plot their countermeasures. They knew exactly what you were doing every step of the way.”

Roman’s face paled. The implications were clear as day. In his line of work, betrayal wasn’t just a stab in the back. It was a noose around the neck. And Caleb had just pointed out the executioner might be standing in their ranks.

The man’s sturdy frame seemed to shrink under the weight of treachery, and a flush of red climbed up his neck. “Fuck!” Roman raked a hand through his short dark hair, the movement agitated, desperate. “How did I not see it? How?”

“You had no reason to suspect your team, yeah?” Wander’s voice cut through the thickening air. His presence was commanding despite his casual attire of cargo pants and a long-sleeve shirt, a stark difference from Roman’s polished suit. “No one thinks his own people are capable of betrayal. This cybersecurity person, you know them?”

Roman nodded curtly. “Joe Egan. He’s been with the office for a year, I think? Once the case started getting serious, I talked to him about increased cyber security. He promised he was on top of it, and he…” He muttered a curse. “Goddammit, he exchanged my phone for an encrypted one, or so he said.”

“I haven’t had a chance to look at it yet, but my guess is your phone has been compromised as well,” Caleb said.

Roman buried his face in his hands, and a heavy silence filled the room. Roman’s vulnerability was raw, exposed like an open wound, and Caleb’s throat tightened with empathy and frustration. He wanted nothing more than to be there for Roman, but all he could do now was stay professional and do his job.

Wander waited until his brother looked up again, then spoke. “Everyone outside this team, even those you’ve known for years, are suspects now. You don’t trust anyone but us. Because if you do, you may end up dead. We’re not fucking around anymore.”

Roman clenched his jaw, the muscles ticking as if grappling with Wander’s words, fighting against a truth he never wanted to accept. But acceptance was not optional. It was mandatory. The look in Roman’s eyes shifted from shock to something harder, more resolved. Wander was right. This wasn’t just about betrayal. It was about survival.

“Got it,” Roman grunted, his response carrying the bitterness of a promise never to let down his guard again.

“You up for some questions?” Caleb asked.

“Hit me.”

“Did the FBI investigate the incident where your files had been messed up?”

“No. Joe said he checked the logs and couldn’t find anything, so I didn’t bother talking to the FBI. I did call the agent on the case yesterday, and he had no updates for me. A lot of BS about not getting anywhere in his investigation, which seems to confirm he’s not really trying. I can’t believe I didn’t see it sooner. Him or Joe Egan. What a fool I was to take their word for it.”

“You gonna stop blaming yourself anytime soon?” Wander asked. “Because you’re no help as long as you focus on hitting yourself over the head for something you couldn’t have known. Learn from it, do better in the future, and move on. If we want to beat these guys, we need you on your A-game.”

Damn, Wander wasn’t holding back. But maybe that was exactly what Roman needed. The bitterness that had plagued him earlier dissipated and resolve filled his expression. “You’re right. What else, Caleb?”

“Let me explain in basic terms what I’ve found so you know what we’re dealing with here. The DA’s office, as part of the Massachusetts Department of Justice, has a pretty state-of-the-art SIEM, which stands for Security Information and Event Management. It means they’re proactive in detecting security threats, including cybersecurity, and use a wide range of systems to analyze, detect, and report. One of those systems was installed on your laptop but not authorized to actually send a warning. The logs are all there if you know where to look, but the system was never able to send you a warning that you had been compromised. That’s not a setting you can engage by accident. That’s a deliberate choice. Outsiders have been able to remotely log in using your network credentials and a VPN to mimic your office. Everything on your laptop is now compromised, including your password management software, which I saw you use.”

“Fuck!” Roman leaned back in his chair.

“Not to pile on with the bad news, but that explains something we discovered,” Lowell said.

“Bring it,” Roman said with a resigned sigh. “Might as well get all the bad news over with.”

“Your apartment’s security system was disabled remotely before the break-in, as in completely turned off. The cameras, motion detectors, everything was off-line, but it never sent you an alert. And right after, it was all reactivated again. Like they were never there.”

“Of course.” Roman massaged his temples. “They got the password right from LastPass, my password manager.”

“That would be my guess based on what Caleb discovered, yes. Which explains why it was so easy.”

“That’s also how they accessed your BMW,” Jonah said. “It has a remote starting option, right? And one of those credit card-like remote keys?”

Roman nodded.

“With the password to your BMW app, they could’ve easily gained access that way.”

“Shit,” Caleb muttered under his breath. His mind raced, scrambling to piece the fragments together into a picture he could understand. “Access, yes, but not easily. Even with the password, hacking into a car is not child’s play. Whoever did this, they’re not amateur hour. This is someone who knows their way around an IT system. They used advanced VPN connections that are untraceable, even for me.”

“Meaning?” Roman asked.

“Meaning we’re dealing with a pro. A fucking ghost. The one good bit of news is this. Judging by the files they opened, I’m confident Whitman is behind this. No other files were even looked at.”

Roman’s eyes lit up. “You’re right. That is good news. At least we know who’s behind it.”

“That will also make things easier for us,” Ryan said. “We can concentrate our efforts, and it confirms what my preliminary investigation into Captain Harmon, your sexual harassment case manager, already revealed. He’s your garden-variety asshole with a rap sheet of complaints as long as my arm, but he’s small fry. Not enough connections to pull off what’s been happening to Roman.”

“Did you get access to any security camera footage from the area where the car accident happened?” Wander asked.

“Yeah, but not the accident itself. And on the footage, we can’t see who’s driving. It’s too dark.”

“The BMW’s on-board computer shows the route they drove,” Caleb said. “From Roman’s apartment, they circled around his neighborhood a few times, maybe waiting for the right opportunity. The accident was so minor, the car didn’t even register it, but right after the time noted on the accident report, it was returned to Roman’s apartment.”

“So, how do we proceed?” Wander asked. “What’s our next step?”

“First,” Caleb said, his voice hard as steel, “we triple-check our cyber security. I’ll issue everyone new phones, and no one uses anything but those outside these walls.” He braced his elbows against the cool surface of the table, staring hard at the others one by one. “And if I catch you using your tablet or laptop on public Wi-Fi, I’ll fucking kick your ass.”

Wander snorted. “Duly noted, with bonus points for the fierce delivery, kid. I’m impressed.”

“What do we do about my laptop?” Roman asked. “Do I stop using it?”

Caleb steepled his fingers. “I fear that if we close the system now and keep them out, they’ll know their game is up…and may escalate things even further. As long as they know where your investigation stands, they’ll feel relatively safe because they’re not expecting surprises.”

“You’re saying you don’t want to give them a heads-up that we’re on to them,” Roman said slowly.

“Exactly. For now, continue to use your laptop, but don’t add anything sensitive to what’s already there. No need to delete anything since they already have it anyway. Too late for that now. And you may wanna consider some strategic false updates to the Whitman case to keep them happy, maybe even drop some hints you can’t get the case built the way you want.”

Roman’s gaze searched Caleb’s face for the certainty he needed to cling to in this chaos. “And then?”

“Then”—Caleb pushed back from the table, the chair scraping loudly over the floor, and stood—“we go ghost hunting.”