Page 23 of The Hacker (Dominion Hall #5)

ELIAS

V ivi’s absence hit like a void, heavy as the silence that filled my suite after she slipped away. I wasn’t surprised she’d left.

Her sobs, her curled-up form, had cracked something in me. I knew better than to chase her now. She needed space, a moment to breathe outside my world.

Every instinct screamed to follow. To find her, hold her, keep her safe. But I stayed put. There was work to do, and I’d be ready when the call came to pick her up from whatever chaos she’d stirred.

I sat at my desk, screens casting a cold glow across the room.

Vivi’s lingering aura clung to my skin. A ghost that made my chest ache and my cock stir despite the hour. I longed for her, not just her body but her laugh, her defiance.

The flicker of hope in her eyes when I’d promised her my riches haunted me. But longing wouldn’t bring her back faster. Code would keep me sane until she needed me.

I started with Jessa Lane. Vivi’s texts confirmed she was meeting her, and Jessa’s urgent messages— We need to talk. Tonight —still set my demon on edge.

I fired up a script to rescan Jessa’s digital footprint, deeper this time. Social media, phone records, anything I’d missed. My fingers moved across the keyboard, steady but restless.

My mind was half on Vivi. I imagined her striding through Charleston’s wet streets, curls catching the light. I wanted to be there, shadowing her, keeping reporters and authorities at bay.

But I stayed. Buried myself in work. Trusted she’d call when she was ready.

Jessa’s profile came up clean. Barista, Charleston native, no criminal record. Instagram showed coffee art, blurry shots with Vivi kayaking, laughing.

The burner app I’d flagged earlier nagged at me. I dug into her recent activity, cross-referencing her number against encrypted chats.

A new thread popped up, dated last night, with a handle I didn’t recognize— ShadyLady . Vague, coded messages about a “meet” and “high stakes.”

My gut twisted. Vivi was probably with Jessa now, planning something reckless. I didn’t know what.

I set a crawler to trace ShadyLady . My thoughts drifted to Vivi’s grin, sharp and wild, daring the world to break her.

The crawler needed time, so I shifted to Vivi’s family. Emmaline and their mother, the threads she’d unraveled last night, her voice cracked with their poverty’s weight.

I understood that life. Sullivan’s Island before my father’s billions, when we’d shared bikes, ate fish we caught and PB&Js made by the oldest brothers. Vivi’s words echoed: Skimping was religion.

I pulled up Emmaline’s records. Public data first. Married, Dallas, one kid named Chasten. Financials were tight—preacher husband, modest income, no savings.

Her Venmo history showed small payments to friends, labeled “groceries” or “help.” Emmaline was stretched thin, her presence at the intervention screaming desperation, not judgment.

My mind wandered to Vivi, curled in my arms last night, tears soaking my shirt. I wanted to hold her now, feel her heartbeat, promise she’d never fight alone.

But she was out there, running. I was here, digging for answers she might not want. I shook it off, focusing on her mother.

Public records were sparse. New Orleans, memory care facility, no assets. Vivi had mentioned a scam, a predator draining her mother’s savings, risking eviction.

I hacked the facility’s billing system. Overdue balance: $12,000, due by month’s end. Pocket change for a Dane, but a fortune for Vivi’s family.

I could pay it. One wire transfer, done. Cover the costs for the rest of her mother’s life. But Vivi’s pride, her fierce independence, stopped me. She’d see charity as debt, not a gift.

Her mother, from what she’d said, was the same—stubborn, surviving on grit. I needed another way.

I pulled up the scam’s details, piecing together Vivi’s words. A phone call, fake badge, wire transfer to an offshore account. Classic Social Security fraud, preying on the vulnerable.

My spiders—custom scripts for hunting—could trace it. I set them loose, targeting the account’s digital footprint, following the money through encrypted ledgers and shell companies.

The stolen sum wasn’t much. Nothing to me, everything to Vivi’s mother. I could replace it, but I wanted justice. Wanted the bastard who’d done this to bleed.

As the spiders crawled, I scrubbed a hand over my face. Vivi’s laugh haunted me, small but real, when we’d shared stories of patched jeans and hand-me-downs.

I wanted her here, body pressed to mine, voice filling this sterile suite. I pictured tomorrow—her waking in my bed, curls tangled, stealing my coffee, fire back in force.

The thought was a lifeline. A hope I’d never dared hold. But she was out there, with Jessa, chasing something “stupid, dangerous.”

I checked my phone. No messages, no calls. I could track her if I wanted, but she’d know. She’d reach out when she needed me. Until then, I’d stay busy, keep the demon at bay.

Jessa’s scan pinged. The ShadyLady handle linked to a dark web forum, low-level, script kiddies trading exploits. Nothing concrete, but the timing—last night, post-intervention—felt too close.

I set a deeper trace. My fingers moved faster, mind lingering on Vivi. The way she’d looked in that silk gown, breathtaking, like she belonged in my world.

I wanted to give her that—beauty, ease, a life without scrimping. But the more I dug into her family, the more I felt I was missing something.

Emmaline’s records offered no clues. Pious social media posts about faith and family, nothing hinting at the intervention’s betrayal.

I hacked her email. A thread with the facility caught my eye—Emmaline pleading for an extension, citing “unforeseen circumstances.”

No mention of the scam, but desperation was clear. Her bank statements showed a $500 withdrawal, sent to an unlisted account. A bribe? A payment?

It didn’t add up. The nagging sense of missing something grew sharper.

My spiders pinged. Initial scam results. The offshore account bounced through three jurisdictions, but a burner phone number surfaced, active in New Orleans last month.

I set a script to triangulate its activity. My thoughts drifted to Vivi’s mother, her paintings of mouthless saints, her mind slipping away.

Vivi had carried that weight alone, her fire a shield against grief. I wanted to carry it for her, prove she didn’t have to fight solo.

But charity wouldn’t cut it. I needed to dismantle the scam, return what was stolen, give her justice, not pity.

The scam felt too precise. Not random, but targeted. Or was I making that up?

I pulled Vivi’s mother’s records again, digging into her past—employment, associates.

A former art teacher, no criminal ties, no enemies. But a name in her old address book— Calvin Reed , listed as “friend”—flagged a hit.

Low-level con artist, arrested twice for fraud, last known in New Orleans. The connection was thin, but it was something.

I set my spiders to chase it, mind racing with possibilities. Vivi’s face flashed—eyes red but steady, that flicker of hope when I’d made my promises.

I wanted to see that again. Wanted to build a world where she could dream without fear.

But she was out there, with Jessa, chasing danger to drown her pain. I checked my phone again. Nothing. The ache in my chest deepened.

I longed to follow. To find her, hold her like last night, her body soft, grief spilling into me. But I stayed, buried in code, waiting for her call.

The ShadyLady trace pinged. A partial hit. The handle posted about “high-risk games” in Charleston tonight, mentioning a “church lot” off East Bay—Jessa’s spot.

My blood ran cold. Vivi was walking into something big. Something I couldn’t see.

The missing piece loomed, a shadow I couldn’t grasp. I set a final script to crack the chat’s encryption, fingers trembling—not from fatigue, but need.

I leaned back, screens blurring as Vivi’s laugh echoed. I saw her tomorrow, in my suite, barefoot, fire back, hand in mine.

But today, she was running. I was here, digging, missing something critical.

The ballet’s suspension, authorities, hackers—it was connected. Had to be. I couldn’t be making that up. Could I? I was failing her, failing to see the whole picture.

My demon stirred, restless. I pushed it down, focusing on code, on work, on the call that would come.

I’d be ready. I’d find her, hold her, prove she was mine—not just her body, but her heart, her future.

Until then, I’d chase ghosts, waiting for the storm that was Vivi to crash back into my world.