"Jesus," Ethan whispers, leaning closer until his shoulder presses against mine. "Look at these dates. Whatever this is, it goes back decades."
My stomach twists into a cold knot. This isn't just recent activity—it's a long-term operation, meticulously concealed within Saint Industries' legitimate business dealings.
"There." Ethan points to a recurring pattern. "See how 'Omega' always precedes a seven-digit number? And 'Gamma' transactions never exceed $5 million?" His eyes narrow with the focus of a predator scenting blood. "It's too precise to be random."
I lean forward, ignoring the burn in my eyes from the screen's harsh glow. "The timing too. These transfers... they cluster around specific dates." My finger traces the pattern on screen. "Quarter ends, major acquisitions, board meetings—"
"And look here." I pull up another document, my heart rate accelerating as patterns begin emerging from the chaos. "Every 'Protocol Echo' entry has a corresponding 'Cerberus' phase. They're connected somehow."
The pieces are there, tantalizingly close, but they refuse to form a coherent picture. My father's shadow looms over every line of code, every cryptic entry. I can almost hear his mocking voice: "Did you really think it would be that easy, son?"
"These recurring numbers in the Omega channels—they're not just random digits. They follow a pattern, like... like some kind of cipher," Ethan mutters, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. "But we need more than just the numbers. We need context, something to anchor the pattern to reality."
"Fuck." The weight of what we're attempting crashes over me. We're not just trying to decode files—we're trying to crack open decades of my father's carefully constructed facade, to expose whatever rot lies beneath the gleaming Saint empire.
"What are you doing?"
Isabella's voice makes us both jump like guilty teenagers. She stands in the doorway wrapped in my robe, her red hair a wild tangle around her shoulders. Even half-asleep, she's breathtaking—and completely unaware of the danger I might be bringing down on us all.
"Just talking to Ethan." I try to keep my voice casual, but guilt twists in my gut. Three days of secrets are weighing on me, three days of planning this behind her back. "Working on something."
She moves closer, and Ethan's face breaks into a warm smile on the screen. "Hey, Red! Looking gorgeous as always, even at the ass-crack of dawn."
Isabella laughs softly, peering at the laptop. Before she can focus on the screen, I catch her face between my hands and kiss her. My heart pounds against my ribs, wondering if she can taste the lies on my lips. "Good morning, beautiful. Why don't you go back to bed? Or maybe take a nice hot shower? I'll join you in a minute."
She studies me for a long moment, those green eyes too perceptive for comfort. I see the question forming, the way she catches the tension in my shoulders, the forced casualness in my tone. But she nods, pressing a kiss to my cheek before padding away. "Shower sounds good. Don't be long."
"Are you planning on telling her you hacked into your father's computer?" Ethan asks once we hear the shower running. The sound of water hitting tile feels like a countdown timer.
"What do you think?" I run a hand through my hair, my stomach churning with guilt and fear. "She has enough stress already with the gallery situation. I'm not adding to it until I have some hard proof I can use."
My phone rings again, and every muscle in my body goes rigid. That ringtone, I'd know it anywhere. The compass tattoo over my heart burns like a brand, a warning of danger ahead.
"Fuck," Ethan breathes, face paling as he glances toward the door. His next words are barely a whisper, like he's already worried about who might be listening. "He's calling. It’s one in the morning over there."
"Yeah." I stare at the screen, Theodore Saint's name pulsing like an accusation. "He hasn't called since our last conversation. Why now?"
Ethan moves closer, eyes darting to the windows. "Only one way to find out." His expression turns grim. "Put it on speaker."
I check that the bedroom door is closed, hear the shower still running, and answer. "Father."
"Ares." His voice is arctic, controlled in that way that always meant trouble was brewing. The sound sends a shiver down my spine that I haven't felt since I was seventeen. "I trust I'm not interrupting anything important at this hour."
"Why are you calling?" I keep my voice steady, even as my free hand presses against my compass tattoo, seeking strength, direction.
"There's been a breach in Saint Industries' security system." The underlying rage in his voice makes my mouth go desert-dry. "My personal computer, to be exact."
I meet Ethan's wide-eyed gaze across the table. Stay calm. "How unfortunate. But why call me about it?"
Silence stretches between us, the kind I've never heard from him before, heavy with something that might be genuine shock. When he speaks again, each word falls like a hammer blow. "The security team informs me that whoever breached the system was... exceptionally skilled. Professional grade."
"What did they take?" I force curiosity into my tone, ignoring the way my pulse thunders in my ears.
"You tell me."
My blood runs cold, a chill spreading through my veins like ice water. "What are you saying, Father?"
"What's on my computer is my business, no one else's." The threat in his voice is unmistakable now, a blade unsheathed. "Whoever is behind this will pay dearly for their curiosity."
