Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Liam

T he hum of fluorescent lights and the clatter of keyboards filled the cavernous space of the SynergyCoin office. My cubicle was one of hundreds, indistinguishable from the next, each one a beige box of monotony. The glow of my monitor cast a blue tint over the clutter of coffee cups and half-scribbled notes scattered across my desk. I was deep into debugging a particularly frustrating section of code when my phone buzzed.

I pulled it from the top drawer; the screen lighting up with a message from Jack.

Got out early. Don’t wait for me at the station—I’m heading home now.

I felt a small pang of disappointment; I’d been looking forward to our brief, shared commute. Typing out a quick reply, I was about to hit send, but before I could, the double doors at the far end of the room swung open.

A group of men and women in dark suits strode in, their expressions sharp and unreadable. They moved with an air of authority that silenced the usual low hum of chatter. Every head in the room turned, eyes wide with curiosity and thinly veiled concern. My stomach tightened instinctively. This wasn’t just an investor visit or some tech conference delegation.

I slipped my phone back into the drawer and shut it just as my office phone rang, shrill and insistent. The caller ID displayed Paulson—Senior Dev, and I stifled a groan before picking up.

“Liam here,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady while my eyes flicked back to the suits now talking to Marissa, our overly perky receptionist. She wore that same garish coral pink lipstick that made her teeth look perpetually stained.

“Hey, Liam,” Paulson’s gruff voice crackled over the line. “Status on the API integration for the new client module? It’s supposed to be ready for review by end of day.”

“It’s coming along,” I replied, tapping the pen in my hand against the desk. “Hit a few bugs in the payment gateway simulation, but I’ve isolated them. Should be sorted in a couple of hours.”

“Make sure it is,” he said, in a tone that made it clear there was no room for debate. “The last thing we need is a repeat of last month’s debacle.”

“Understood,” I said, and before I could add anything else, the line went dead.

I placed the receiver back on its cradle, feeling the tension in my shoulders as I watched Marissa gesture toward the hallway that led to Mr. Langston’s office. The suits followed, their expressions unreadable and eyes hidden behind reflective sunglasses. Not a single smile among them.

When they disappeared from sight and the murmurs in the office resumed, I exhaled and pushed myself away from the desk. The small breakroom on the floor had a fridge stocked with overpriced kombucha and bottled water. I could use a minute away from the screens—and the tension.

As I passed Marissa’s large circular desk, I hesitated. She was tapping her fingers nervously against the keys to her desktop computer.

“Hey, Marissa,” I said, leaning on the edge of her desk. “What’s with the Men in Black routine?”

She glanced up, her lips pressed together, smudging the coral even more. “I think they’re with the government,” she whispered, eyes darting over my shoulder as if an agent might suddenly reappear.

The government? I blinked, a chill running down my spine. What on earth would bring them here, to a crypto firm?

Marissa’s eyes darted around before she leaned in, her voice barely a whisper. “I heard a rumor that Langston’s in trouble,” she said, her lips barely moving. The words landed like a stone in my gut. Before I could process it, the door to Mr. Langston’s office opened with a sudden creak, silencing the room.

A woman stepped out, her presence as imposing as the rest of the suits combined. She had dark hair pulled back in a severe bun and eyes that looked like they could cut through steel. Her fitted suit and badge on her hip announced she was not someone to mess with. She cleared her throat, and the sound reverberated through the room.

“I’m Agent Brown with the Securities and Exchange Commission,” she said, scanning the sea of faces. The air thickened, an electric charge crackling in the silence. “We’ll be calling each of you into the conference room for interviews, one at a time. Please remain at your desks until instructed.”

No further explanation. No indication of what we’d done—or what Langston had done—to bring the SEC down on us like this. Agent Brown turned on her heel and strode back into the office, the door clicking shut behind her. The whispers that followed were frantic, everyone glancing at one another, eyes wide with confusion and worry.

Marissa’s elbow caught the edge of her mug, and coffee splattered across her desk. “Oh, for—” she hissed, grabbing tissues and dabbing furiously. I didn’t stay to help. My legs felt stiff as I forced myself to walk back to my desk.

I dropped into my chair; the vinyl creaking beneath me. The glow of my monitor felt cold and impersonal now, the lines of code meaningless against the backdrop of whatever storm was brewing.

Had I done anything that could even remotely come under scrutiny? I ran through every project, every interaction, searching for anything that might put me on their radar. But I didn’t know what they wanted, or what might come next.

I just knew it was bad.

The clock on the wall ticked sluggishly, each minute dragging as if it had to fight for its existence. It was almost six, and I was one of the few people still left in the office. The air felt stifling, laced with a tension so sharp it could slice through bone.

I’d watched people shuffle out of the conference room all afternoon, their faces pale and haunted. Most didn’t even bother to look around—they just grabbed their coats and bags and left, some muttering under their breath, others stiff with silence. A few exchanged quick glances, eyes wide with confusion or masked panic. Were we all about to be canned? What was this, some massive layoff disguised as government interference?

At one point, I went over to Marissa’s desk, leaning in close. “Any idea what’s going on?”

She shook her head, looking frazzled. “No clue, Liam. But whatever it is, it’s serious.”

I hurried back to my desk, mouth dry. Finally, the office door opened again, and Agent Brown strolled out. Her eyes landed on me, sharp and indifferent. “Liam Murphy,” she called out.

My stomach lurched as I stood, legs stiff and unsteady. I took a breath, forcing my feet to move. This was it. Whatever it was. Agent Brown’s dark eyes assessed me as she led the way to the conference room. I kept my expression neutral, though my heart was pounding so hard I thought it might leap out of my chest.

Inside, the conference room was dimly lit, and the air was stale from hours of interrogation. Around the table sat a handful of agents, each one scrutinizing me with the practiced coldness of professionals who’d seen it all. The man in the center, older with salt-and-pepper hair and a crisp navy suit, cleared his throat. “Mr. Murphy, I’m Agent Smith.”

The Matrix reference popped into my head involuntarily, and I bit back the inappropriate urge to smile. I focused on the man’s voice as he continued. “Please take a seat.”

I sat, gripping my hands together under the table to keep them from shaking.

“What is your role and your primary responsibilities at SynergyCoin?” he asked, his eyes boring into mine.

“I’m a junior developer,” I replied. “I mostly work on backend processes, fixing bugs, and supporting the main development team.”

He nodded, barely acknowledging my answer. “Have you received any unusual instructions from your superiors?”

I blinked. “No, not that I know of. I only started here a few weeks ago, fresh out of college.”

Agent Smith’s brow lifted slightly before he covered a yawn with the back of his hand. “Are you familiar with the company’s method of raising capital?”

The question made me pause, the meaning spinning beyond my reach. “Not really. I mean, I’m just a junior developer. I haven’t been involved in any discussions about fundraising or capital.”

Another agent, this one younger, with a permanent scowl, leaned forward. “How does the company handle investor funds? Are you aware of any internal communications discussing financial practices or any fundraising activities?”

I looked from one agent to another, my confusion growing with each question. “I don’t know anything about that. My work is on the tech side, coding. I haven’t seen or heard anything about investor funds or capital.”

The agents exchanged glances, their expressions unreadable. They asked a few more questions, each one more opaque than the last, and my answers didn’t change. I didn’t know what they were looking for, and it wasn’t anything I could help them with.

Finally, Agent Smith tapped the table. “Alright, Mr. Murphy. You’re dismissed. If we need anything else, we’ll be in touch.”

I nodded, relief and unease fighting for dominance. I stood, and Agent Brown stepped forward to walk me out. Before I could stop myself, I turned to her. “What’s happening?” I blurted out, my voice lower and more desperate than I intended.

Her eyes flicked to mine, emotionless. She didn’t answer, just pivoted on her heel and called out into the office, “Leroy Malinowski, please come to the conference room.”

The door clicked shut behind me, leaving me in the dim, buzzing office. “What the hell’s going on?” I muttered to myself and forced my feet to move.

I gathered up my laptop and the half-empty water bottle I’d forgotten on my desk, shoving them both into my worn messenger bag. The room felt like it was closing in on me, the sterile scent of recycled air mixed with anxiety making my head swim. I glanced around one last time at the dim office space, now eerily quiet except for the hum of the overhead lights.

I took a deep breath, swiped my ID card, and stepped into the elevator. The doors slid shut with a metallic thud, and I realized I was alone. That never happened. The elevators always filled up quickly, especially at this hour when people were rushing to leave. But tonight, it was just me and the silent, reflective metal walls.

I punched the button for the lobby, my finger lingering for an extra second, as if it could somehow steady my racing heart. The elevator hummed, moving smoothly down eleven floors, the numbers ticking by slowly. When the doors opened to the lobby, I stepped out and was met with an unexpected sight.

Three security guards stood clustered around the front desk, their backs slightly turned as they whispered urgently to one another. My pulse quickened, and I moved toward them almost unconsciously. But before they noticed me, I ducked down behind the desk, pretending to look for something in my bag.

I tilted my head just enough to catch snippets of their conversation.

“... financial irregularities,” one of them said, his voice a low murmur that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

“Yeah, but at least we work for an agency,” another guard replied, his tone laced with relief. “Better than being one of these poor bastards getting laid off.”

The words struck me like a blow to the chest. Laid off? I felt the panic build, cold and relentless, clawing up my throat. My breath came short and fast, and I fought to keep it under control. If I let it slip now, the guards would notice me crouched there, looking desperate and out of place.

I forced myself to straighten up, grabbing my bag and slinging it over my shoulder as casually as I could manage. My legs felt heavy as I walked to the exit, the murmur of their voices trailing behind me like ghostly whispers.

Out on the street, the crisp evening air hit my face, but it did nothing to clear my head. The city moved around me—people bustling by, cars honking—but all I could hear was the echo of those guards’ words.

Was this it? Was my new job, the start of my career, already crumbling beneath me? The neon glow from the streetlights blurred as my vision wavered, and I swallowed hard, trying to keep it together.

I took a shaky step forward; the question circling my mind like a vulture: Would I even have a job tomorrow?