Thea stood barefoot at the window. City lights spread below like a quiet constellation. Her laptop glowed on the table; the spreadsheet waited.
A click.
"Didn't expect you to call this late."
"You sent that file like it was routine. Twenty-four years of monthly transfers from my father's personal account. That's not routine." Her fingers tightened around the phone.
"That's why I flagged it," A.M. said. "Listen... who is F.H.?"
"Alias. No verified ID. No traceable records." He spoke fast. "Whoever it is, your father didn't want them found."
"The file says the trail ends at the first node. Explain." She began to pace.
"It means the paper trail stops early. Proxy chains, shell companies, encrypted hosts. Someone scrubbed the backend. Old-school tradecraft, but cleaner than your father's usual work."
"So this isn't just money. It's protection," she said.
"Looks like it." A pause. "I did find something else. Four years ago one transfer slopped through by mistake, crossed through one of Carrington Biotech's shell accounts. It was the same amount, same day of the month. Only once, then scrubbed."
"And the placeholder name?" Her voice went cold.
"It wasn't 'F.H.' in that doc." He drew breath. "It read H. Fallon."
Thea froze. H. Fallon. The initials reversed, but the name hit like a hand.
"A.M.?" she whispered.
"That name," A.M. continued. "Sounded familiar. So, I dug a bit and realised it was from when I cross-checked the employee archives. She used to work with your family, a long time ago. Then disappeared from public records nearly 10 years ago."
"She worked here? Wow."
"There's no file now. It's been erased."
"The money," she pressed. "Why that much? And every single month? It's more than what our directors earn!"
"That's what caught my attention too," A.M. said. "No title, no contract, nothing that justifies it. And it didn't stop, even through the 2008 crash or your father's staged bankruptcy 2014. Whoever this is—mattered. Deeply."
"I want everything you can get on this person." Her voice was low, steady. "No walls. Break them."
There was a long beat. "I hit a wall," A.M. admitted. "But I'll push."
"Do it." She didn't give him time to argue.
"Listen... there's more. Someone accessed the private server tonight. Two hours ago."
Her skin went cold. "Who?"
"Unknown origin. Cloaked. But it was targeted at Lacrine." A.M.'s voice was tight. "It looks like cleanup activity."
She ended the call without another word.
For a moment she simply stood, the silence heavy around her. F.H. lingered on the screen like a whisper.
"Fallon," she breathed.
She crossed the room to change out of her work clothes.
RAYMOND'S STUDY
The day's paperwork lay stacked in neat piles beside a glass of untouched scotch. His routine end-of-day call had just wrapped up—a status check with each department, every report accounted for.
Everything had seemed normal. Until his phone buzzed again.
Private Line: Ezra — Systems Security
"Sir," Ezra said, voice clipped. "We picked up an access on the private server earlier today."
Raymond's hand paused on the desk. "Define access."
"A dormant node on the Lacrine pipeline. It wasn't a full breach, it was cloaked behind proxies but we caught a ping. A faint digital footprint."
"Internal?" His jaw clenched.
"No. And not random. Whoever did this, knew exactly where to look."
Raymond stood slowly, the leather chair creaking behind him. That shell had been sealed for years. Quiet. Buried. "Was anything extracted?"
"No data pulled. Just accessed, one ping. Then gone."
He ran a hand through his graying hair, tension pulling at his shoulders. "Tighten it. Reseal everything. Reroute the firewalls. If it costs an entire system reset, do it."
"Already done, sir."
He hung up, stared at his reflection in the window, then picked up the old landline on his desk and pressed a button. The voice answered immediately.
"Mr. Alfred," Raymond said. "Come to the study. Now."
He had just ended the call when the heavy oak doors swung open.
"Finally," Seraphina said, sweeping into the room, heels clicking against the marble. "Do you know how many days I've been trying to reach you?"
"Now isn't the time."
"It's never the time," she snapped, folding her arms. "You vanish for a few days, ignoring my calls, and act like I'm the distraction. What is it Dad? What's going on?"
She studied him closely now. His shoulders were tense, his jaw tight, and there was something in his eyes, unease. Maybe even fear. That wasn't like him.
Her voice softened. "Wait... what happened? You look like you've seen a ghost."
Raymond exhaled and moved toward the desk, though he didn't sit. He looked at her for a long beat before speaking.
"There's been a breach," he said. "Someone tried to access one of my oldest private servers."
She blinked, then stepped closer. "I think I know who might be poking around."
Raymond's eyes sharpened. "Who?"
She hesitated. "Two weeks ago, while you were away, I followed Thea." She didn't wait for his reaction. "She met someone. Private investigator energy. He gave her a flash drive. She took it to your office."
"That was two weeks ago," Raymond said, unimpressed.
"She still has him on retainer," Seraphina pushed. "What if he found something new? What if she's been pulling at a thread?"
He ran a hand over his face. He never liked guessing games. But this didn't feel like guessing.
"She's been pulling threads for a while, Dad. And whatever you buried in that server?" She gave an evil laugh. "Can never be good. And shouldn't resurface."
He turned toward her, studying her closely. "And why are you telling me this now?"
"Because if she finds whatever you buried, it won't just be you that gets burned. It'll be the whole empire. And you know my name's on the deeds too. Think about it."
A knock. Mr. Alfred entered quietly, just as Seraphina was leaving.
"She thinks Thea is behind the Lacrine offshore breach I detected today."
Mr. Alfred's composure cracked, just slightly. He stepped forward. " The Lacrine Offshore?"
Raymond turned, eyes narrowed. "She followed Thea a few weeks ago. Watched her meet with a man she believes is a private investigator. He gave her a flash drive… and she used my office to access it."
Mr. Alfred didn't speak. That silence was all the confirmation Raymond needed.
"A beat. Then Alfred spoke, steady but grave. "A few days ago, alone. She asked questions I hoped I'd never hear again."
Raymond stepped forward. "What kind of questions?"
"She asked about what happened twenty-four years ago. When I didn't budge, she said it outright. That she knew what I helped you do then."
Raymond moved to the desk, gripping its edge like it might hold him steady.
"She wasn't guessing," Alfred added quietly. "She knew. Down to the details. Calm. Sharp. Just like her mother."
"And you didn't tell me?" Raymond's laugh was humorless, fury barely concealed. "You let her pry?"
"I wanted to," Alfred replied, voice laced with fear. "But I wasn't sure how much she actually knew. I thought maybe if I kept things steady, it would pass. I didn't want to raise alarms too early."
"Too early? Alfred, she's already inside the vault. You know her. You know she doesn't bluff."
"You always said to handle things quietly, I thought I could handle it, sir." Alfred said. "Clearly, I was wrong."
Raymond walked to the window. He was quiet a long moment. Then he turned, cold. "She trusts you more than she's ever trusted me. That makes you the only one who can reach her now."
Alfred's face went tight. "I understand."
"No," Raymond said firmly. "I don't want you to just talk to her. I want you to stop her. She cannot go any further. That part of my life, our lives, must never resurface. Not now. Not ever."
Mr. Alfred gave a slow nod.
Raymond opened a drawer and pulled out a small leather bag. He held it out. "Go see Fallon."
Alfred blinked. "Sir?"
"Don't call her," Raymond said, eyes like flint. "No texts. No staff. No drivers. Go in person. Off the grid. Make it look like a simple errand."
Alfred's hands shook as he took the device. "What do I tell her?"
"Tell her to be ready," Raymond said. "If this isn't contained, we start Plan B. Sooner than I'd hoped."
Alfred nodded, the weight of the order settling on him.
Raymond watched him go, listening to the quiet click of the study door. He wasn't thinking about Fallon. He was thinking about Thea.
He wasn't ready for a storm wearing her mother's eyes.