Chapter 17
Chapter 17: The Ghost in the Machine
Preston frowned through the glass, watching me manipulate the tablet screen. “What the hell are you doing? I didn't give you permission to access the file directory.”
“I don’t need your permission, Preston,” I said, watching a faint, rolling sequence of green code script begin to cascade down the corner of my terminal interface. Ethan’s mirror virus was operating with flawless, terrifying speed. “I’m just verifying the structure of your insurance policy.”
“Stop touching that!” he shouted, grabbing his phone tighter, his panic suddenly returning as he noticed the tablet on his side of the glass flash once, its screen turning entirely white before returning to the standard login menu. “What did you just do? What did that machine do to my attorney’s file?”
I slowly unplugged the gold pen from the port, recapped it, and slid it back into my blazer pocket.
The cascading code on my screen stopped, replacing itself with a simple, clean notification box:
TRANSFER COMPLETE. TARGET DIRECTORY CLEARED. SOURCE ARCHIVES CORRUPTED.
I looked up from the screen, meeting his frantic, wild gaze through the scratched plexiglass.
“You can tell your lawyer to submit that access key to the federal prosecutor this afternoon if you want to, Preston,” I whispered, my voice dripping with an icy, absolute finality. “But when they open the Swiss server link, they aren't going to find your father’s logistics manifests from 2022.”
Preston’s face drained of color until he looked exactly like his father had on that sidewalk last night. “What… what did you do?”
“They’re going to find a complete, un-redacted audio recording of your phone call to me from last winter,” I said, leaning in. “The one where you explicitly admitted that you knew about the corporate cover-up, that you didn't approve of the pharmacy board investigation, and that you were trying to blackmail my family into dropping your criminal charges. It’s called extortion, Preston. It carries a mandatory consecutive five-year sentence in federal prison.”
Preston dropped the phone receiver. It clattered violently against the metal counter, dangling from its steel cord like a dead pendulum.
He threw himself against the plexiglass, slamming his fists against the thick barrier, his face contorted into an animalistic, screaming mask of pure terror and rage.
“Maya! You can’t do this! You can’t destroy me like this! Maya! Come back here! Maya!”
The guards in the room instantly moved in, grabbing his arms and slamming him face-first onto the metal counter, his orange jumpsuit tearing as they dragged him backward toward the heavy steel door.
May you like
I didn't watch him struggle.
I picked up my purse, tucked the gold fountain pen safely into my pocket, and walked out through the heavy security turnstiles into the bright, freezing winter sunlight.
