My first week at Wolfhart Dynamics passed in a blur of calculated moves and careful observation. I learned the rhythms of the place—when security changed shifts, which executives worked late, and most importantly, when Cassian disappeared into his private meetings.
Working directly for him was both a blessing and a curse. A blessing because I had unprecedented access—the wolf had invited the fox into his den without realizing the danger. A curse because it meant his eyes were on me. Constantly.
And those eyes missed nothing.
"You're thinking too hard again," Cassian said, breaking the silence of his vast corner office.
I looked up from the report I'd been annotating—a lengthy analysis of competitor vulnerabilities that he'd asked me to review "with fresh eyes." The real purpose, I suspected, was to test how I thought.
"Just doing what you pay me for," I replied, keeping my tone light.
He leaned back in his chair, studying me with that unsettling intensity that seemed to be his default setting. "Which is what, exactly? Because I'm starting to wonder."
My pulse quickened, but I kept my expression neutral. "Strategic analysis. Identifying weaknesses. Isn't that why you hired me?"
"Part of it." He stood, moving to the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the city. "But there's something more in the way you look at things. Like you're searching for something specific."
I set down my pen carefully. "I'm thorough."
"You're hunting," he corrected, turning back to face me. His expression was unreadable, but there was something in his eyes—not suspicion exactly, but curiosity. Dangerous curiosity.
I smiled with just the right amount of mysterious charm. "Maybe that's why we work well together. You recognize a fellow predator."
Something flickered across his face—amusement, maybe, or appreciation. "Fair enough." He glanced at his watch. "I have a board meeting in five minutes. Finish that report and leave it on my desk. I'll be tied up until late tonight."
"Of course."
He gathered his tablet and a thin portfolio, then paused at the door. "Oh, and Reyna? Don't work too late. The building gets... lonely after hours."
The words hung between us like a warning—or perhaps an invitation. I couldn't tell which was more dangerous.
"I'll keep that in mind," I replied.
After he left, I finished the report in record time, placing it precisely in the center of his immaculate desk. Then I waited, counting minutes, watching the elegant clock on the wall until I was certain the board meeting was well underway.
This was my chance.
I left Cassian's office, nodding to his security detail stationed in the outer reception area. "Mr. Wolfhart asked me to pull some files from archives while he's in his meeting," I said casually. "Apparently the board had questions about the Nexus Project."
The guard—Davis, according to his badge—barely looked up from his monitor. "Need any help finding your way down there?"
"I've got it, thanks."
My heels clicked softly against the polished floors as I made my way to the elevator bank. Instead of going down to archives, I pressed the button for the forty-eighth floor—Data Infrastructure. The restricted section that housed Wolfhart's most sensitive servers.
Lance's voice echoed in my memory from our last briefing: "The server room is your golden ticket. Whatever they've got on Maya, whatever they're hiding—it'll be there, not in their sanitized HR files."
The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime. The forty-eighth floor was quieter than the executive levels—dimly lit with blue-tinted lights, rows of glass-walled server rooms stretching down a long corridor. Security cameras blinked silently from the corners.
I moved with purpose, as if I belonged there. Half of infiltration was simply confidence—walk like you own the place, and most people won't question you.
Near the end of the corridor was a door marked "Restricted Access—Level 5 Authorization Required." This was it. The central server that housed Wolfhart's most sensitive data. I pulled out the security badge Lance had doctored for me—a perfect replica of a Level 5 clearance card, loaded with a spoofed digital signature that would hopefully fool the system long enough for me to get in.
I swiped the card and held my breath.
For three agonizing seconds, nothing happened. Then the light flashed green, and the door unlocked with a soft click.
Inside, the temperature dropped at least fifteen degrees. Massive server banks hummed with quiet power, blue indicator lights blinking in hypnotic patterns. The air smelled of metal and cold—the sterile scent of secrets kept under lock and key.
I moved quickly to the main terminal, inserting the specialized USB drive Lance had given me. It would create a temporary backdoor into the system—not enough to download everything, but enough to search for specific files related to Maya's case.
The terminal came to life under my fingers as I typed in the search parameters:
VALE, MAYA
HR INCIDENT REPORTS 2023-2024
INTERNAL INVESTIGATIONS
TERMINATION RECORDS
Nothing.
I frowned, then tried another approach:
WHISTLEBLOWER PROTOCOLS
NDA VIOLATION PENALTIES
EXECUTIVE PROTECTION PROCEDURES
The screen flickered, then populated with a list of encrypted files. I selected the most recent one, dated just three weeks before Maya's suicide attempt.
The file opened to reveal a heavily redacted document, but certain phrases jumped out at me:
...potential liability in the R.T. situation must be contained...
...ensure all participants understand consequences of disclosure...
...standard separation package with enhanced confidentiality provisions...
R.T. Richard Townsend. Maya's supervisor—the one she'd filed the complaint against.
My heart hammered against my ribs as I scrolled through the document. This was it—proof that the company had actively covered up the harassment. I downloaded the file to my drive, along with several others that referenced similar "situations."
Then I saw it—a folder simply labeled "CW Personal." Cassian's private files. I hesitated for only a second before clicking it open.
It required another password. Of course it did.
I pulled out a second device from my pocket—a brute force encryption cracker disguised as a compact mirror. As I connected it to the USB port, I heard something that made my blood run cold.
Footsteps.
And voices.
"...should be done with the system update by now," a man was saying, his voice growing closer. "Wolfhart wants it online before the Tokyo conference call."
I yanked the USB drive from the port, quickly closing all the windows I'd opened. There was no time to properly log out—and nowhere to hide in the small server room.
Except...
I ducked behind the largest server bank just as the door swung open. Two men entered—one in a security uniform, the other in the white coat of IT staff.
"I don't see Jarvis," the security guard said. "He was supposed to be finishing up in here."
"Probably stepped out for coffee. You know how he is on these late shifts."
I pressed myself against the wall, barely breathing, the cold metal of the server seeping through my blouse. The USB drive felt like it was burning a hole in my palm.
"System looks active," the IT tech said, moving to the terminal I'd just been using. "Wait, that's strange."
My heart stopped.
"What is?" the guard asked.
"The log shows someone accessed the executive files, but it doesn't show a proper logout sequence."
The guard moved closer to the screen. "Could be a glitch from the update."
"Maybe..." The tech's fingers flew across the keyboard. "I'll run a diagnostic."
I closed my eyes, calculating my options. There was no way out except past them. If they found me here, the entire operation would be blown. Maya would never get justice.
Then my phone vibrated in my pocket—a text message.
The guard's radio crackled to life. "All security personnel report to the main lobby immediately. We have a situation."
The guard sighed. "Duty calls. You good here?"
"Yeah, go ahead. I'll just finish the diagnostic and lock up."
The door closed behind the guard, leaving just the tech between me and escape. I needed a distraction—something to get him out of the room, even for a few seconds.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone. The text was from Lance:
LANCE: Triggered building alarm as distraction. Get out NOW.
I smiled grimly. Lance always had impeccable timing.
Right on cue, an alarm began blaring through the building—not the fire alarm, but a security alert. The tech cursed under his breath.
"What the hell?" He moved toward the door, hesitating between staying with the terminal and investigating the alarm.
I didn't wait to see what he decided. The moment he looked away, I slipped out from behind the server and made for the secondary exit—a maintenance door Lance had identified in the building schematics.
I was halfway down the service corridor when I heard shouting behind me. They'd spotted me. I kicked off my heels, grabbed them in one hand, and ran barefoot toward the service elevator.
The doors were just closing when a hand shot through the gap—strong fingers gripping the metal edge.
My heart stopped as the doors slid back open.
Standing there, his expression a perfect blend of surprise and something darker, was Vincent Creed—Cassian's enigmatic right-hand man.
"Ms. Lancaster," he said, his voice cool and collected despite the alarms still blaring through the building. "Interesting place for a late-night stroll."
I straightened my spine, forcing a look of annoyed confusion onto my face. "Thank God it's you. I got completely turned around looking for the executive bathroom, and then these alarms started—"
"In the server room level?" He raised an eyebrow. "Without your shoes?"
I glanced down at the heels still clutched in my hand, thinking fast. "These are new. Six inches and Italian leather. When the alarms went off, I panicked and ran. Try sprinting in these death traps."
Vincent's eyes—sharp and calculating—didn't leave my face. "So you just happened to be near our most secure server room when an unexplained security breach occurred?"
"I was lost," I repeated firmly. "If you'd prefer, we can discuss this with Mr. Wolfhart directly."
Something flickered across Vincent's face—hesitation, perhaps. Then he stepped aside, allowing me into the elevator.
"That won't be necessary," he said smoothly. "I'm sure it was just a coincidence."
The way he said "coincidence" made it clear he didn't believe in them any more than I did.
We rode in silence to the executive floor. When the doors opened, Vincent held them for me with exaggerated politeness.
"A word of advice, Ms. Lancaster," he said as I stepped past him. "Wolfhart Dynamics has many secrets. Not all of them are worth uncovering."
I turned to face him, letting a hint of steel show in my smile. "I'll keep that in mind."
"See that you do." His eyes narrowed slightly. "Because I'd hate to see someone as... promising as you disappear like others have."
The threat hung in the air between us, thinly veiled but unmistakable.
"Good night, Mr. Creed," I said, my voice steady despite the adrenaline still coursing through my veins.
"Good night, Ms. Lancaster." He watched me walk away, his gaze burning into my back. "Sweet dreams."
Back in my apartment, I sat cross-legged on my bed, scrolling through the files I'd managed to download before being interrupted. Most were heavily encrypted, but Lance was already working on breaking through the security layers.
One file, however, opened without resistance—a simple text document labeled "Liabilities."
Maya's name was on it. Along with twelve others.
All interns. All young women. All quietly removed from the company after filing complaints.
And at the bottom, a single line that made my blood run cold:
Ensure C.W. remains insulated from all proceedings.
Cassian Wolfhart. The architect of it all.
I closed my eyes, leaning back against the headboard. The image of Maya lying pale in her hospital bed flashed behind my eyelids.
"I found something, Maya," I whispered into the darkness. "I'm getting closer."
But as I drifted toward uneasy sleep, it wasn't Maya's face I saw, but Vincent's knowing eyes. And beyond him, Cassian—watching, always watching.
I'd crossed a line tonight.
And somehow, I knew they were already closing in.