Chapter 15 Class 3.2: Alibi Network Construction

Chapter 15 Class 3.2: Alibi Network Construction
“Don’t look back, Eris. If you do, you both die.”
Julian’s voice echoed in my mind like a physical blow as I stood paralyzed in the darkness of the South Loading Dock. I had seen the armored truck. I had seen the gurney where my brother lay. Every fiber of my muscle screamed to charge, to kill, to reclaim the last shred of my family.
But Julian’s note—those three words: Don’t be a fool.
I clenched my fists until my nails drew blood from my palms. The blood dripped onto the concrete, but it paled in comparison to the tearing of my heart as I watched the truck pull away. Forgive me, Leo. Not today. If I take you now without the right weapons, Viveca will throw us both into a shallow grave.
I retreated into the shadows, closing my eyes. I made a vow as the darkness swallowed the truck’s taillights: I will be back. And when I return, I won’t just save you. I will burn every foundation of this hell.
“I will be back,” I whispered.
“The problem with people like you is that you always want to be the hero. In the world of espionage, the hero is the first one buried.”
Bambi’s eyes were glued to the four monitors in front of her. The room smelled of energy drinks and overheated circuitry. Bambi was Rank 7—the Sanctum’s tech prodigy. She wore an oversized hoodie and her hair looked like it hadn’t seen a comb in a week, but her fingers flew across the keyboard faster than lightning.
“Class 3.2: Alibi Network Construction,” she continued, without so much as a glance my way. “Today, we’re creating a ghost. A persona that can enter any bank or company without leaving a footprint.”
We were in The Grid, the East Wing’s computer lab. Madame Viveca had ordered me to partner with Bambi to create my new ‘business persona’—a front for Senator Silas’s upcoming transactions.
“Type your name here,” Bambi commanded, pointing to a blank field on the screen. “Not Eris. Not Margo. Give me someone who exists only in data.”
As I typed, I noticed the rapid flow of code on Bambi’s other screen. There were spreadsheets displaying the logos of major banks.
“Why are you here, Bambi?” I asked while finalizing the profile for my alibi—Elena Cruz, an offshore investment consultant. “You don’t seem like Dominique. You don’t thirst for attention.”
Bambi’s fingers paused. For the first time, she looked at me. Her eyes were sunken with heavy bags, filled with a weariness that coffee couldn’t drown.
“Because of math,” she whispered, a bitter smile touching her lips. “My father was a CFO. When I was only ten, he discovered I could see patterns in numbers that adults couldn’t. He used me to steal, Eris. Hundreds of millions from his own company. And when the bank finally closed in? He didn’t protect me. He pointed the finger at his ‘genius daughter.’ He said I was the mastermind.”
I took a deep breath. Everyone in the Sanctum carried a wound, but Bambi’s smelled of ultimate betrayal.
“Viveca bought me,” Bambi continued, returning to her typing. “She paid off the judges and erased the records. Now, I’m her personal hacker. I’m not a girl anymore; I’m just an algorithm that makes her richer. So don’t think you’re special just because Julian picked you. In here, we’re all bought and paid for.”
The glow of the monitor suddenly transformed into the blinding camera flashes outside our mansion ten years ago.

I remembered that day. Our black SUV struggling to navigate through a sea of angry people. News of the ‘Valderama Fraud’ had gripped the entire country. Former neighbors who used to feast at our parties were there, too.

Clack!

A stone shattered my car window. I saw the face of a boy—an old playmate—holding another rock. “Thieves! Give back the people’s money!” they screamed. The smell of sweat, the rage in their eyes, and the sound of stones striking metal became the symphony of our downfall. My father tried to cover my eyes, but it was too late. I saw the people we had helped turn into monsters. I learned that day: the crowd doesn’t want justice; they want a sacrifice.

“Your alibi is finished,” Bambi said, snapping me back to the present. “Elena Cruz is now a legitimate consultant in the Vespera Business Registry. You have a bank account, a LinkedIn profile, and three years of fabricated tax returns. Now, you need to test the network. Go to the Iron Roots. There’s a dirty cop there who needs an ‘incentive’ for Silas’s next delivery. If he buys your story, you pass.”
The Iron Roots smelled of trash and rust. I wore a simple beige suit and glasses—the uniform of Elena Cruz. In this corner of the city, the law is written with the barrel of a gun and the corner of an envelope.
I entered a dim canteen. At the far end sat an officer with a bloated stomach and a faded uniform. Officer Gardo.
As I approached, I froze. This face… I knew this face. He was the patrol officer who used to loiter at the corner of our old subdivision. He was one of the men who laughed while they dragged my father away.
“Officer Gardo?” I approached, keeping my voice level. “I’m Elena Cruz. Representing Southern Sector Development.”
Gardo looked up, squinting through the smoke of his cigarette. “Elena Cruz, huh? You’re new. But you look…”
He studied my eyes. My heart hammered. This is the danger of being back in the real world—the ghosts of the past are everywhere.
“You look like someone,” he whispered, slowly standing up. “That girl… Valderama’s daughter. Margo, right? What happened to that brat? They said she died in the fire.”
“I don’t know who that is, Officer,” I replied, sliding an envelope across the table. “I’m here for the permits. One signature, and you can retire early.”
Gardo reached for the envelope but kept his eyes locked on mine. “You know, before Valderama died, he used to give me tips. But his daughter… she had eyes like that, too. Too bold. Too… judgmental.”
Gardo gripped my arm, his grimy fingers digging into my skin. “Let me see your face without those glasses, Elena.”
This was the moment taught in Class 2.1: Lethal Grace. When an alibi is compromised, don’t run. Erase the threat.
As he reached out to remove my glasses, I didn’t flinch. I used his own momentum against him. In a flash, I twisted his arm, hearing the muffled crack of his wrist. Before he could scream, the tip of my sharpened ballpen—the weaponized tool from Bambi’s lab—plunged into the soft tissue beneath his jaw.
It wasn’t lethal, but it delivered a sedative strong enough to drop a horse in five seconds.
“Your memory is a liability, Officer,” I whispered into his ear as I eased him back into his chair to make it look like he’d passed out from drink. “And Margo Valderama is indeed dead. You’re looking at her ghost. I’m not whoever you’re talking about.”
I snatched the signed document from his table and walked out of the canteen. My hands were shaking—not from fear, but from the adrenaline of finally silencing someone who had helped destroy us.
Outside, I took a deep breath of the Iron Roots’ smog.
“Status?” Bambi’s voice crackled in my earpiece.
“Alibi confirmed. The target is neutralized for the next six hours,” I replied, adjusting my glasses.
“Good. Madame V will be pleased,” Bambi said. “But Eris… your heart rate spiked when he mentioned that name. Be careful. In this network, emotions are the only thing we can’t hack.”
“It’s not emotion, Bambi,” I replied, walking toward the waiting Sanctum vehicle. “It’s housekeeping.”
Julian was waiting at the East Wing entrance when I returned. He looked at the documents in my hand, then at my face.
“You’re late,” he said, but his voice lacked anger. There was a trace of… concern?
“The Officer was… talkative,” I said, exhausted. “I had to handle it.”
Julian stepped closer, his hand grazing my shoulder for a split second before he pulled away. “Bambi told me what happened. You did well. But don’t make a habit of seeking out danger, Eris. The Senator is starting to ask questions about Viveca’s ‘new asset.’”
“Let him ask,” I said, looking straight into his eyes. “The more he asks, the more he looks at the light. And while he’s staring at the light, he won’t notice the shadow right behind him.”
I walked inside, leaving Julian in the dark.
Tonight, I learned two things. One: Bambi is a prisoner of her own genius. Two: The world hasn’t forgotten the Valderamas. As long as people like Officer Gardo remember our name, I cannot afford to be complacent.
I went to bed, the sugar cube from the White Room long gone, but the bitterness of the Iron Roots still lingering on my tongue. Rank 15 is just a number. Rank 1 is a goal.
But freedom? Freedom is the only thing worth fighting for. And before this month ends, I won’t just have an alibi. I’ll have a trap big enough to drown everyone standing between me and Leo.
The Alibi Network is ready.
Elena Cruz is born.
And Margo Valderama is sharpening her claws in the dark.