“Someone’s probing our servers,” Mitzy says, her voice calm but focused. “Exactly as anticipated.” A slight smile plays at the corner of her mouth. She taps a few more commands, and a secondary screen illuminates with streams of code. “They’re good. Not good enough, but definitely professional-grade hackers.”
“Reynolds?” CJ asks, moving to look over her shoulder.
“Most certainly,” Mitzy confirms. “The attack pattern matches what I’ve been monitoring from his encrypted channels. Sophisticated, but predictable.”
I watch Mitzy work, understanding dawning. “You set a trap.”
Her smile widens. “A very appealing one. Just enough genuine data mixed with carefully crafted false leads to make it irresistible. The moment they breached the outer firewall, my countermeasures activated.”
“Can you trace it back to the source?” Skye asks.
“Already have. Three locations. Two are obvious decoys, butthe third…” She pauses, fingers flying across her keyboard. “The third is interesting. Private residence, Montana. Registered to a holding company that connects back to?—”
“Drazen Kostic,” Willow finishes, leaning forward to study the data.
“Exactly.” Mitzy nods. “But more importantly, I can now see what they’re after.” She pulls up a list of filenames. “They’re specifically targeting your financial records, Willow. The ones documenting Reynolds’s offshore accounts.”
Forest’s expression darkens. “Money trail. The most damning evidence.”
“Let them keep digging,” Mitzy says with a predatory gleam in her eye. “Every attempt gives me more access to their systems. More intelligence about their operations. Meanwhile, they’re getting exactly what I want them to see.”
The main screen suddenly flickers, then resolves into a video feed. A man’s face, familiar to all of us, but especially to Willow, who goes utterly still beside me.
Steffan Reynolds stares out from the screen, his expression calm, almost bemused. He adjusts his tie—a casual gesture that nonetheless radiates menace—then smiles directly into the camera.
“Hello, Willow,” he says, voice smooth as poisoned honey. “Did you think I wouldn’t find you?”
Willow’s hand tightens in mine, but her face remains composed. Mitzy’s fingers never stop moving across her keyboard, her expression one of cool calculation rather than alarm.
“That’s impossible,” Cooper mutters. “How did he?—”
“He hasn’t,” Mitzy interrupts calmly. “This is a pre-recorded message they’re broadcasting through their attack program. Standard intimidation tactic.” She glances at Willow. “He’s fishing. He has no idea whereyou are.”
On screen, Reynolds continues, unaware that his psychological warfare has already been neutralized. “I’ve been patient, sweetheart. Given you time to come to your senses, but my patience is running out.” His smile never wavers, never reaches his eyes. “You have something that belongs to me and I want it back.”
“The evidence,” Willow whispers.
“You’ve always been clever, Willow. Too clever for your own good, but this little game ends now.” Reynolds leans closer to the camera. “I know where you’re hiding. I know who’s helping you. And I know exactly how to make them suffer if you don’t return what’s mine.”
Forest signals to Mitzy, who cuts the feed with a keystroke. “He’s bluffing,” she says confidently. “If he knew our location, he wouldn’t be hacking our decoy servers to deliver threats.”
“Can you track the video source?” I ask, my arm instinctively wrapping around Willow’s shoulders.
“Already done,” Mitzy confirms. “Signal originated from the Montana location. I’m gathering everything I can about their systems, their security, their personnel.” Her eyes gleam with a predatory light. “While Reynolds thinks he’s frightening us, he’s giving me full access to his operation.”
I turn to Willow, expecting fear, trauma, regression. Instead, I find her sitting straighter, eyes focused, jaw set. “He always did underestimate me,” she says quietly. Then, louder, “Mitzy, can you keep the connection open? Get as much as you can?”
“Working on it.” Mitzy’s fingers move like lightning across her keyboard. “I’ve already pulled their security protocols, personnel files, and…” She stops, a genuine smile breaking across her face. “And what appears to be Reynolds’s complete financial records. The real ones, not the sanitized versions.”
“The idiot just handed us everything we need,” Ryan murmurs, shaking his head in disbelief.
“He never could resist showing off how clever he is,” Willow says, and there’s something in her voice I’ve never heard before. Not fear. Not anger. But satisfaction. The predator watching her prey walk into a trap of its own making.
“Keep him talking,” Forest instructs Mitzy. “Let him think he’s in control while we prepare to move.”
Mitzy nods, reopening the video feed. Reynolds’s face reappears, still speaking, still threatening, still completely unaware that his every word is strengthening the case against him.
Willow watches her husband, and for the first time since I’ve known her, she smiles at the sight of him. Not with warmth, but with the cold certainty of someone who knows the end is coming.
