Viola's POV
I took the keycard. It was cold, thin, and felt impossibly heavy in my palm. This wasn't just a key to a server room; it was permission to walk into the deepest, most dangerous secret of Kyle Lodge's operation. He wasn't just my boss…he was turning me into his co-conspirator.
"You're enjoying this," I stated, my voice flat, my eyes narrowed on the keycard, refusing to acknowledge his triumphant gaze. "You enjoy the chaos."
"Chaos is the only honest element in business, Vi," he replied, his amusement palpable. "Now go. Marshall will give you a car. And I want a full debrief when you return."
I didn't dignify his comment with a response. I turned and walked straight toward the door, shoving the keycard into my blazer pocket.
"A word of advice, Head of Editorial Integrity," Marshall muttered as I swept past him, his expression a complicated mix of distrust and grudging respect. "Vance is armed. He's not paranoid; he's smart. Don't touch anything."
"I'm going to talk to him, Marshall," I shot back, without stopping. "I'm not raiding the warehouse."
I took the elevator down, the scent of the car leather still clinging to my black dress. This time, I didn't take a taxi. Marshall had a black SUV waiting for me outside, driven by a new, equally silent security operative. I was now traveling in the Lodge motorcade, making my position in the organization undeniably clear.
The drive to 419 Bridge Street was tense. The area was quiet, lined with old, anonymous industrial buildings. The SUV pulled into a recessed loading bay, and the driver pointed to a steel door tucked beneath a rusty awning.
"That's the discrete entrance, Ms. Viola. Use the keycard on the smaller reader," he instructed.
I nodded, gripping my purse. I swallowed my fear, remembering Angela and the power Lodge held over me. Survival meant finding the truth.
I swiped the card. The steel door clicked open with a loud, mechanical sigh.
Inside, the warehouse was cavernous and cold, smelling of stale dust and concrete. The front area was stacked high with crates—clearly the "logistics" side of the operation. But my attention was drawn to a reinforced, windowless room set deep into the back wall, bathed in the faint, rhythmic glow of blue server lights.
I found Vance sitting at a makeshift desk outside the server room. He was a small, intense man in his late forties, wearing glasses and a faded tech T-shirt. He was running multiple monitors, fingers flying across a keyboard, and there was a heavy-duty sidearm visible in a shoulder holster under his jacket.
He looked up, startled, then recognized the keycard I was holding. His surprise quickly morphed into acute suspicion.
"Who are you? And how did you get that key?" he demanded, his hand hovering near his holster.
"I'm the Head of Editorial Integrity. My name is Viola," I stated, walking forward calmly. "And Mr. Lodge sent me. He knows about your counter-intelligence operation, Simon. He knows you're trying to prevent an intrusion. He wants me to help you find the source."
Vance slowly dropped his hand, his eyes scanning me—my dress, my heels, my infuriatingly calm expression. "Lodge sent his secretary?"
"Lodge sent the only person who correctly identified you as the firewall, not the mole. Now, stop wasting time," I said, pointing at his screens. "Who is attacking the network, and how are you keeping them out?"
Kyle's POV
The rest of the afternoon was agony. Not because of work—the acquisition papers for the new media firm were simple—but because the primary source of my daily stimulation was gone. The office was quiet, professional, and utterly boring.
Marshall, seeing my focused silence, assumed I was plotting.
"So, you're just going to let her and Vance run amok in the warehouse?" Marshall asked, leaning against my desk, unable to sit still. "Vance is running a clean operation, but she's a wild card, Kyle. She hates you."
"She does," I agreed, signing the final page of the acquisition. "And that's why she won't fail. Her success is her only leverage against me. If she uncovers the enemy, she gets to keep her job, our secrets, and her moral high ground."
I tapped my pen against the document. "I have total faith in her ability to win. She is brilliant, Marshall. The only weakness in our system right now is that we haven't identified the attacker. She will."
I looked up at the clock. 5:30 PM. I knew she'd be back soon. The anticipation was becoming unbearable. I had placed all my chips on her hatred and intelligence.
"Let's focus on the actual enemy, Marshall. Vance confirmed this morning that the attacker is targeting the East Asian shipping manifests. They're not after the books; they're after the real assets. If they breach the firewall, the entire operation could go dark."
I got up and walked over to my private bar, pouring a single finger of scotch. "The attacker isn't one of the usual rivals. This smells like a corporate raid dressed up as a hack."
Marshall's eyes widened. "A corporate raid? Who would be bold enough to come after the Lodge empire this way?"
I took a sip of the scotch, feeling the burn. "Someone with immense resources, no fear, and a very personal vendetta."
Suddenly, the phone on my desk lit up. It was Vance. I picked up instantly.
"Report," I commanded.
"She's done, Mr. Lodge. She figured it out in under an hour," Vance reported, his voice tinged with respect. "She linked the attack pattern to an existing media corporation's acquisition methods. They weren't trying to steal the manifests; they were trying to block the encryption key. If they succeeded, our entire East Asian distribution would have been seized under an anti-trust injunction at midnight tonight."
I felt the sudden, exhilarating rush of pure relief and triumph. A legal strike, not a physical one. Clever. But not clever enough.
"And the company?" I asked.
"Larsen Acquisitions. They were prepared to announce the injunction at 9:00 AM tomorrow," Vance said. "We've fixed the block, but their CEO is the key."
I hung up, a slow, cold smile returning to my face. "Viola, Marshall, just saved us from a multi-million-dollar legal ambush."
I looked at Marshall, whose jaw was slack. "I need her. Now. Tell the driver to bring her straight here."
I returned to my desk, my mind already racing through the implications. I had to reward her, contain her, and bind her to me even further. Her success was my greatest victory and my gravest danger.