Page 30 of The Hacker (Dominion Hall #5)

ELIAS

V ivi’s weight against me in the SUV was a quiet anchor, her hand brushing mine on the center console as we drove through Charleston’s humid night. Emmaline sat in the back, her breathing soft, exhaustion already pulling her under.

We pulled into Dominion Hall’s gates, the fortress’s stone and glass a stark contrast to the city’s soft decay.

Vivi stirred, her green eyes heavy but steady, meeting mine with a trust that made my chest ache.

Emmaline blinked awake, her guarded expression softening as she took in the compound’s sprawling grounds.

I led them inside, the marble halls cool and silent, guiding Emmaline to a guest suite with a wide bed and harbor views. She nodded gratefully, her suitcase thudding to the floor, and was asleep before I closed the door.

Vivi’s room—my suite—was next. She sank onto the bed, curls spilling across the black sheets, her body folding into itself like it had in the boutique.

“You don’t have to stay,” she murmured, voice hoarse from grief and the station’s weight.

I knelt beside her, brushing a stray curl from her face. “I’m not going anywhere, Red. Sleep. I’ll be close.”

Her eyes flickered, a ghost of her fire, and she nodded, pulling the blanket over herself. Her breathing slowed, deep and even, within minutes.

I stood, watching her for a moment, the woman who’d cracked my world open, now fragile but unbroken. Jessa’s death, the viral images, Department 77’s trap—they’d hurt her, but she was still here, and I’d make sure she stayed safe.

The ops room called, a fortified bunker beneath Dominion Hall’s main structure, its walls lined with servers and screens. I locked the door behind me, the hum of cooling fans a steady pulse.

My laptop booted, connecting to the encrypted channel I’d opened with PhantomZero .

The $50 million deal—$12.5 million already paid—was a gamble, but if anyone could gut Department 77’s network, it was this ghost, a hacker who made my skills look pedestrian.

I needed their reply, needed to know the battle was on, but first, I had to shore up Dominion Hall’s defenses.

Department 77 wasn’t just a shadow; they were a hydra, and when PhantomZero struck, they’d hit back.

I ran diagnostics on our firewalls, patching possible vulnerabilities, encrypting data streams, and rerouting traffic through dummy servers.

Our network was a fortress, but I added layers—traps to snare intruders, alerts to flag breaches.

If they came for us, they’d find a labyrinth, not a door.

My fingers moved fast, code flowing like a second language, but my mind lingered on Vivi, her quiet strength in the apartment, her whispered confession of love. I’d protect her, protect us, no matter the cost.

A ping broke my focus. PhantomZero ’s reply loaded, a secure link to a private stream. I clicked, and six screens flared to life, each a window into their attack on Department 77’s network.

It was like watching a maestro conduct chaos, and I was enraptured.

Imagine a city under siege, six armies hitting from different gates, each with a unique strategy. That was PhantomZero ’s work—synchronized, relentless, breathtaking. I leaned forward, eyes darting between screens, my pulse quickening as the battle unfolded.

Screen one showed a brute-force assault, a digital battering ram slamming Department 77’s main server with millions of login attempts, overwhelming their authentication systems. It was like throwing a thousand punches, not to land one but to tire the opponent.

Screen two was subtler, a phishing net casting fake emails to agency operatives, tricking them into clicking malicious links that installed backdoors. Picture a con artist slipping keys into every lock, waiting for one to turn.

Screen three ran a DDoS attack, flooding their network with junk data, clogging arteries like a heart attack. It was chaos, servers choking, unable to respond.

Screen four exploited a zero-day vulnerability—a flaw in their software no one knew existed—slipping malware inside like a thief through a cracked window.

Screen five was social engineering, scraping employee data to guess passwords, a quiet pickpocket lifting wallets in a crowd.

Screen six was the wildcard, a custom script probing for weak points, like a scout mapping enemy trenches.

Department 77’s defenses held, their walls absorbing the brute force, their system catching some malware. I clenched my jaw, dread creeping in. Their network was a steel vault, redirecting traffic, isolating breaches.

I thought the worst— PhantomZero had met their match.

But then I saw it, the brilliance of their strategy. The attacks weren’t meant to win alone; they were a symphony, each move distracting, weakening, creating cracks for the others to exploit.

Screen two’s phishing net snagged a junior operative, his click opening a backdoor.

Screen four’s malware spread through that breach, corrupting files like a virus in blood.

The DDoS on screen three slowed their response, servers lagging as screen five’s password guesses landed, unlocking admin access.

Screen six’s probe found a hidden database, and PhantomZero pounced, weaving through the chaos like a dancer in a storm.

I held my breath as the vault began to crumble.

It was a back-and-forth, Department 77 scrambling, patching holes, but PhantomZero was relentless. They were in, piece by piece dismantling the agency’s network.

Screen one’s brute force cracked a secondary server, exposing internal comms. Screen five’s admin access let them rewrite permissions, locking out operatives.

The malware on screen four deleted backups, erasing years of data like burning a library.

I watched, heart pounding, as PhantomZero carved through their defenses, each move a masterstroke, each screen a battlefield falling to their command.

The final stop was the bank accounts.

Screen six shifted, displaying a ledger—Department 77’s financial backbone, hidden behind layers of encryption. PhantomZero ’s script danced, cracking codes like a safecracker’s fingers on a dial.

One by one, accounts drained, funds siphoning to numbered vaults. The deal was PhantomZero kept half of anything they found; the rest went to Dominion Hall.

Numbers flashed—hundreds of millions, many times their $50 million fee. I grinned, adrenaline surging, as the last account emptied, the agency’s wealth gutted in minutes.

The battle felt like a sprint, but my watch showed hours had passed—four, nearly five.

I leaned back, exhilarated, my mind still racing with PhantomZero ’s brilliance.

I typed a quick message: Masterful. Balance incoming.

I sent the remaining $37.5 million, a small price for this victory.

Department 77 was on its knees, their network in ruins, their funds ours.

I fired off an update to my brothers: Dept 77’s down hard. Investment paid off. Stand by for next moves. Atlas, Marcus, Noah, Charlie—they’d know we’d struck a blow, one that bought us more time, maybe even delivered the knock-out blow.

I powered down, the ops room’s hum fading as I stood, muscles stiff but mind clear. Contentment settled in, a rare warmth.

I’d fought for her, for us, and won, at least for tonight.

The hall was quiet as I climbed to my suite, the harbor’s lights flickering through the windows. Vivi lay in bed, her breathing soft, curls spilled across the pillow. I slipped in beside her, the mattress dipping under my weight, and pulled her close, her warmth grounding me.

She stirred, murmuring, but didn’t wake. I pressed my lips to her forehead, a silent vow.

Department 77 was wounded, but not dead, and Vivi’s grief—Jessa’s death, her mother’s crisis—still loomed. But tonight, I’d carved out a victory, a step toward keeping her safe.

My eyes grew heavy, contentment pulling me under, and I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, Vivi’s heartbeat my only anchor.