Page 40

Rhys

T he City is stirring as I step through the revolving doors. It’s still early, but Jade and I were up late, dissecting every comment and action from last night’s drama at her parents’ house, and it was tough to drag myself out of bed. On the whole, she’s feeling good—cautiously optimistic—about the future of Allerton Mining, and that makes her cautiously optimistic about her relationship with her family. But she’s also a realist and knows this will likely be a long, slow, messy process. I find the whole thing fascinating, and I’m inclined to agree. Her father’s retirement and him putting Alexis in charge are positive steps—and kind of amazing ones, actually—but no one can entirely change their stripes. I’m just glad I’ll be by her side moving forward.

I’m running behind this morning, which isn’t like me, but the corridors at work are still mostly deserted, save for the diligent few who, like Mackenzie, always seem to beat the sunrise.

“Morning, Rhys.” She greets me with that effortless cheer she maintains regardless of the hour. “How’d your lunch at Waterbar go yesterday? You were still holed up in meetings when I left.”

I break into a smile. “My lunch companion was a tough negotiator, but we were able to come to reconciliation.”

Mackenzie’s smile widens. “That’s good news,” she says.

I nod, appreciating her support even in matters beyond spreadsheets and schedules. “Thank you for your help putting that together.”

“Rhys!” Theo’s voice echoes down the hall just as I’m about to duck into my office. He rounds the corner with a lopsided grin that suggests he’s just heard something particularly juicy. “You’re back with Jade?” He claps my shoulder. “How much groveling?”

“Quite a bit,” I admit. “But she’s worth it.”

“Rest-of-your-life type stuff, huh? Who am I supposed to go out with now?”

He follows me into the office, and I drop into my chair, swiveling to face him. “You’re on your own, but I don’t think that’s a problem for you. Every time I see you, you’ve found someone new.”

He shrugs. “When you go to a buffet, it’s all you can eat, so why choose just one?”

I hold up my hand. “I’m not going to tell Jade, Danica, or Crystal what you just said.”

He shrugs. “I don’t pee where I eat. And the idea of settling down does not seem even remotely interesting.”

“Ah, trust me,” I assure him. “When you find the right one, you’ll understand.”

“Whatever. Hey, did I see in the morning news that Jade’s dad’s retiring?”

I nod. “I was there when he announced it.”

“Damn.” Theo whistles. “That must have thrown everyone for a loop.”

“Tell me about it.” I sigh, considering whether to share more. Trusting Theo feels as natural as breathing, so I lean in slightly, lowering my voice despite the privacy. “Let’s just say, if dysfunction had a picture in the dictionary, it would be the Allerton family portrait.”

Theo nods sagely. “Be careful, man,” he advises. “Family drama like that has a way of spilling over.”

“Isn’t that the truth?” I murmur. With a deep breath, I turn to my computer as Theo heads out.

Mackenzie’s silhouette appears in my office doorway once he’s gone. “You have a voicemail in your inbox,” she says.

My gaze locks with hers. “Is it him?”

She nods solemnly.

“It’s Justin?” Theo reappears and leans around Mackenzie. He must not have gotten far.

“Yes,” she confirms.

“Is Austin in yet?” I ask, feeling my adrenaline spike.

“Let me grab him,” Mackenzie replies.

While she’s gone, I fumble with my cell phone, finding Jim’s contact. The call connects, and then his voice emanates from the speaker. “Rhys.”

“Hey, Jim. I’ve got another voicemail from Justin. Theo’s here and Austin’s on the way.”

“Go ahead,” he encourages.

I set the phone down on the desk just as Austin strides in. I motion to the chair next to mine, and the three of us huddle close.

“Play it,” Austin murmurs, and I tap the voicemail icon. Justin’s voice fills the room, strained and frayed at the edges like a worn piece of fabric.

“Hey. It’s me. Someone found me, and I barely escaped. I need to go underground. Crystal isn’t with me, but I’ve sent her into hiding as well. I’m not going to be able to reach out for a while, but watch your back and trust no one. Someone is hunting me, and they’re watching you. I’ve gotta go. Be safe, man.”

The click of disconnection leaves us in stunned silence. I look over at my partners. Not trusting anyone seems like such a bad idea right now. This is just more of the same.

“Can you forward that to me?” Jim breaks the silence.

“Of course.” In a few clicks, the voicemail is on its way. “You should have it any minute.”

“We’re beta testing some new digital forensic software,” Jim says. “Might give us more insight than what we’ve been using to analyze these messages.” There’s a pause, and I can almost hear Jim’s mind working a mile a minute. “Let’s meet at my office this evening. I think we’ll have an update on Crystal by then, so we can tackle all of this at once.”

“Okay,” I agree. “Thanks, Jim. We’ll see you then.” I end the call and sit back, exchanging glances with Theo and Austin. This evening can’t come soon enough.

The clock on my desk blinks through its relentless cycle of numbers, each one nudging me closer to the inevitable, which I both want and don’t want to arrive. Finally, Mackenzie’s voice cuts through my preoccupation. “Rhys, you need to head out if you’re going to make it to Clear Security on time.”

“Right,” I reply, snapping my laptop shut with more force than necessary. “Thanks, Mackenzie.” I grab my keys and phone, shoving them into my pockets as I stand.

Before I leave, I dial Jade. The line trills once before she picks up. “Hey, you.”

“Hey,” I return the warmth, trying to shake off the chill of nerves. “Listen, I got another voicemail from Justin today. The team and I are meeting at Jim’s office this evening after he’s spent the day analyzing it.”

“Okay, be careful,” she says, turning serious for just a heartbeat. “Oh, and don’t expect anything fancy for dinner. I’m making spaghetti, and by that, I mean boiling water and opening a jar of sauce.”

I can’t help but laugh, the sound alien after the tension of today. “I wouldn’t have it any other way. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Okay, I’m wishing you luck,” she says before we hang up.

When I get downstairs, Austin leans against Scott’s Escalade. We slide into the back as Theo rushes out to pile in right behind me.

As we pull onto the road, our conversation drifts inevitably to Crystal. “Where do you think she could be?” Austin asks.

“Well, she was in San Francisco not that long ago, but somewhere safe, hopefully,” I muse. “Justin’s evidently quite good at covering tracks.”

“Trust no one.” Austin echoes the words that I’m sure have been gnawing at all of us. “Have you ever considered he might not even trust you?”

“Crossed my mind,” I admit. “So, it’s hard to know what to make of his messages. But despite what he says, I still trust the both of you. Mason and Jim too. We’re in this together.”

“Right,” he agrees, and Theo nods as well.

Our trust is all we have, and it’s possibly the best weapon against whatever shadows are chasing Justin.

We pull into the underground parking lot at Clear Security, and my pulse quickens with each step closer to answers—or more questions. Mason is already waiting for us, and he offers a solemn nod as we approach.

“Ready?” he asks.

“Let’s do this,” Austin replies for all of us, and we follow Scott through the revolving doors.

Inside, we’re ushered to the elevator with a nod from Scott, who punches the button for the second floor without a word.

The doors slide open, and Jim is there to greet us. He doesn’t waste time on pleasantries as he guides us down the hallway to the conference room. “Thanks for coming on such short notice,” he says.

“Of course,” I reply, but my words trail off as we enter the room, which is plastered with images and research on Justin’s life and disappearance.

It’s like walking into a shrine of unsolved mysteries. Justin’s face stares out at us, surrounded by webs of information, timelines, and blown-up photographs. Red strings crisscross between photos and notes, marking the many, many leads pursued and discarded.

“Wow,” Austin murmurs, echoing my thoughts. “Impressive work.”

Bash Pontius strides in to join us. “Incredible, isn’t it?” His voice fills the space. “Over eighteen months of work.”

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” I agree.

“They’ve checked on all of us,” Theo notes, waving a hand toward a section of the wall dedicated to those closest to Justin. “Even Danica and Jade.”

My gaze lingers on Jade’s picture, a twinge of guilt that even she couldn’t escape scrutiny. The web extends outward to an image of Crystal, her photos dotted with question marks and speculative notes.

“Crystal and Turner,” Theo muses aloud, staring at a photo of the two together. “What do you think? Could they—”

“Who knows? They were awfully cozy at the anniversary party,” I cut in, shaking my head. “But if she is with Turner, I hope it’s because she wants to be, not because she’s been dragged into something darker.”

“Right,” Theo agrees.

The door swings open, and Gage strides in. His face is set, the lines of worry etched like old scars. I shuffle my feet under the table, trying to ease the tension that seems to tighten with his arrival.

“Did you guys put all this up just for today?” I ask as everyone finds their places at the table.

Jim shakes his head, pulling out a chair with a scrape. “No, it’s been growing since day one.” He settles himself, fingers drumming on the tabletop. “We’ve chased down leads in eighteen countries, some more than once.” He sighs. “But we haven’t once had eyes on Justin.”

I nod, absorbing the magnitude of a global hunt with no quarry.

“Let’s get to it,” Jim says, nodding toward Gage.

Gage fires up his laptop, the screen casting a bluish glow across his intense features before it projects on the whiteboard. “VoiceBot is a cutting-edge voice-analyzation program,” he explains. “It references background noise and speech patterns to measure authenticity.”

He clicks and a waveform appears on the screen, dancing with the playback of the last voicemail. My gut tightens, hearing Justin’s voice. Gage points to the readouts, his finger tracing the peaks and valleys. “See here? This suggests a seventy-one-percent probability that the message was fabricated.”

I forget how to breathe for a moment. “What does that mean?” I croak.

Gage meets my eyes. “Most likely the voice is an AI-generated fake.”

My pulse hammers in my ears. Seventy-one-percent certain? That feels like a cold hand gripping my heart.

“How is that possible?” Austin asks.

“The technology in this area has really advanced in recent years. And it would be easy in Justin’s case,” Gage says. “There are hours of his voice recorded on the internet, various interviews and company speeches.”

“Run it again,” Theo says. We’re all leaning forward now, eyes fixed on the screen, as if willing it to give us a different answer. But the numbers don’t lie, and as the recording plays through once more, reality sets in.

“AI is getting better,” Mason says. “It can add in background noise, emotion, and things that would throw off the naked ear. VoiceBot is one of our investments. We like it because it can measure stress in a real voice. That’s something AI can’t do. It also picks up on nuances like this.” Mason points to a spike, and Gage plays that bit again. “Here you see the transition from one word to another is very quick.”

Gage plays a portion of Justin’s voicemail: “Watch your back and trust no one.” Then he looks over at us. “Repeat the phrase out loud and try to say it with the recording.”

He starts the recording again, and we’re close, but only if we drop the distinctness of some of the words. I look at Mason as everyone falls silent.

Gage’s fingers move deftly, queuing up the other voicemails. He plays through them one by one, each analysis delivering the same gut punch—sixty- to seventy-two-percent probability of being fabricated. I watch the numbers flicker on the screen, my mind reeling. How many nights have I stayed awake, haunted by a voice that wasn’t even real? The betrayal feels sharp, cutting through the optimism I’ve tried so hard to maintain. What else has been manipulated or falsified? This is high-tech deception at its most chilling. But why?

“Does this mean you don’t believe these voicemails are actually from Justin?” Mason asks.

Jim nods. “We’re certain of it,” he confirms. “These messages aren’t from Justin. They’ve been designed deliberately to sow seeds of distrust, to fray the fabric of your partnership.”

“Do we know if the emails are fake too?” I ask.

Gage shakes his head. “We’ve run the emails through a comparison with Justin’s writing voice, and it’s inconclusive, which is not particularly a good sign.”

I sit back hard in my seat. It feels like everything is crumbling. “What about the threat on the darknet? The contract on my life out for bid. You thought you pulled it down before anyone could take action, but could that have been a red herring?”

Jim leans forward. “It’s a distinct possibility.”

Rage shoots through me. “I fucking blew up my relationship because of that. Spent weeks living in near panic.” I feel stupid. I feel bad. “Whoever did this needs to pay. Why are they messing with our lives like this?”

“If someone’s going to these lengths to fake Justin’s voice,” Theo says, “what else have they been manipulating? Bank accounts? Records? Hell, even our own communications?”

Austin nods. “And what’s their endgame? I still can’t tell what any of this means.”

“Damn,” Theo murmurs. “Crystal’s been scared into hiding because of these fakes. And the last message said Justin—or whoever this is—had talked to her. Do you think she had a real conversation with a fake voice?”

“Wait,” Bash says. “We’ve got something on the Crystal front.” He taps a few keys on his laptop, and a map pops up on the screen. A red dot blinks steadily on the Dalmatian Coast. “Crystal and Turner,” he announces. “We’ve tracked them to Dubrovnik, in southern Croatia.” A satellite image replaces the map, zooming in on a sprawling resort nestled against the sapphire waters of the Adriatic Sea.

“Right there.” Bash points. “They checked into a resort using aliases, but the trail is hot.”

Dubrovnik is a place I’ve seen only in travel brochures, but it seems to be beautiful, though its medieval walls and terra cotta roofs offer little solace in the face of our current predicament. The thought of Crystal, caught up in this deception and fearing for her life, sends a pang of guilt through my chest. I certainly know how that feels.

“Looks like paradise,” I finally say, “hiding in plain sight.”