Chapter 207: Is Howard Harrison Still Alive?

Chapter 207: Is Howard Harrison Still Alive?
Luke's POV

"What the hell?" Peter slammed his hand on the desk as the screen suddenly filled with random characters and symbols. The files we had just successfully recovered were now complete gibberish.

I clicked through several windows, trying different commands, but everything was corrupted. My shoulders tensed with frustration, but I wasn't entirely surprised. During the hours we'd been working, I'd felt like I was being toyed with—allowed to make just enough progress to keep going, only to hit another wall.

"How is this possible?" Peter's voice trembled. "We just had it! It was right there! How did it suddenly turn into garbage code?"

I continued typing, running diagnostic programs while Peter paced behind me. I could hear his footsteps growing faster and more agitated.

"They're monitoring our every move," I said, my eyes not leaving the screen. My fingers moved automatically across the keyboard, trying to salvage any fragments of data.

Peter suddenly stopped pacing and grabbed the back of my chair. "Not just monitoring—they're one step ahead of us! I've been thinking about this for hours. Look at how they counter our every move. It's like... it's exactly like..."

I looked up at him, noting how his face had gone pale. "Like what?"

"Howard Harrison," Peter said quietly, as if saying the name might summon something unwanted. "These are exactly Howard's methods. He would let you think you were about to win, then suddenly pull the rug out from under you."

I straightened in my chair, recalling what I knew about Harrison. "The guy who's already dead?"

Peter nodded vigorously, then rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. "Yes. But that's impossible. He's dead. Really dead. The boss and I personally sent him to be cremated. We witnessed the whole process. We buried his ashes. There's no way he could have faked it this time."

Peter frowned at the corrupted files. "But if it's not him, why would someone else work in exactly the same way? It can't be his ghost doing all this, can it?"

Despite our predicament, I almost smiled at the suggestion. "Ghost or human, we need to find them first. Let's keep going. I want to have answers for Tara when she wakes up."

Peter took a deep breath, nodded, and slid back to his own seat. He reached for his coffee cup, found it empty, grimaced, and refocused on the screen.

---

Tara's POV

I jolted awake, blinking rapidly at an unfamiliar ceiling. Where was I? Then it all came back—Finn missing, Karen dead, that phone, Luke's sudden appearance. I rubbed my eyes and checked the clock: 8 PM. A full seven hours of sleep. I had only intended to take a short nap, but my body clearly had other plans.

My muscles ached as I sat up. I still felt exhausted, but my mind was clearer. I dragged myself to the shower, letting the hot water pound against my skin until I felt somewhat human again. After changing into clean clothes, I headed toward the study.

The smell of coffee hit me before I reached the doorway—strong and bitter, probably the cheap instant kind Peter always used when pulling all-nighters. I paused at the entrance, taking in the scene. Peter's tie was gone, his shirt wrinkled, the tails hanging loose. Luke didn't look much better—his hair stuck up oddly on one side, his eyes blinking rapidly as if struggling to stay alert.

Both were so focused on their screens that they didn't notice me until I spoke.

"You two look like hell," I said, stepping into the room. "Any progress?"

They both jumped slightly. Peter swiveled in his chair, coffee sloshing dangerously in his cup.

"Boss!" he exclaimed. "You're awake! We're still working on it. You should go back to sleep—we'll come get you when we crack it."

I walked over to look at their screens, immediately spotting several approaches they hadn't tried. My fingers itched to take over.

"If you're tired, go rest," I said, pulling up a chair. "I can handle this now."

Peter's shoulders slumped. He exchanged a glance with Luke, then rubbed his face with both hands, leaving red marks on his cheeks.

"This file is driving me insane," he groaned. "We've almost cracked it several times. Every time something goes wrong just as we're about to break through. Always failing at the last step. The person behind this is deliberately toying with us."

I cracked my knuckles, rotated my neck, and felt the familiar determination surge through me. "If they want to toy with us, let's see who they're dealing with. How long can they keep this up?"

I glanced at Luke. The dark circles under his eyes stood out starkly against his pale skin. He had been working non-stop, despite having just recovered from poisoning.

"You should rest," I told him. "Peter and I can handle this."

Luke's jaw tightened. He looked directly at me, his expression brooking no argument. "I'm staying."

I recognized that stubborn look from our marriage—there was no point arguing. I just nodded and turned to the keyboard, already typing commands, picking up where they had left off.

For the next two hours, Luke and I tackled the problem together. I would take the aggressive approach, quickly breaking through initial defenses, and then he would methodically work through the more complex security layers. When I hit a roadblock, he would create a diversion in another part of the system. We barely spoke—just occasional muttered curses, quick glances, and a few gestures, but somehow, these were enough to communicate everything we needed.

Working with him, I felt a strange familiarity—my brain anticipating his next move before he made it, his strategies complementing mine without discussion. With each blockade, my frustration grew, my fingers hitting the keyboard harder, while Luke maintained an infuriating calm.

After our fifth attempt, the screen suddenly flashed green. Success. The files were recovered.

"Finally!" I leaned back, flexing my stiff shoulders. I glanced at Luke, who was already looking at me, a victorious smile matching my own. For a moment, I forgot our complicated history—we were just two hackers who had defeated a formidable opponent.

Peter's irritating voice broke the moment. "Wow! Look at that! Nothing works better than a man and woman working together, especially when they're a real couple. So efficient!"

I felt my jaw tighten. "If you can't say something useful, shut up."

Peter just grinned wider. "What? Did I say something wrong? You two are a real couple—just divorced! Divorce doesn't change the fact that you were once husband and wife."

"Exactly!" Luke chimed in, looking annoyingly pleased with himself.

I aimed a kick under the table at Peter, but he must have anticipated it because he jerked sideways. My foot connected with something else—definitely not the table.

Luke made a choking sound and doubled over. When he straightened, his nose was bleeding, drops falling onto his shirt.

"Damn," I muttered, frozen in place. I hadn't meant to kick him, especially not in the face. How had my foot even reached his face?

Peter whistled. "Look what you've done! His handsome face is completely ruined. And he hasn't remarried yet. If he ends up disfigured, you'll have to take responsibility for him."

Luke pressed his sleeve against his nose, wincing dramatically. "It's fine, just painful. But..." he touched the side of his head, "my head feels strange too. You don't think I've damaged a nerve, do you?"

I rolled my eyes at his obvious performance, but couldn't ignore the guilt as I watched the blood continue to flow. I stood and walked over to him.

"Tilt your head back," I commanded. "Let me see."

I examined his nose carefully, pressing gently along the bridge. It was already swelling, turning an angry red, but the bone wasn't broken. I grabbed tissues from the desk to wipe away the blood, trying to ignore how close we were, how I could smell his familiar cologne mixed with the metallic scent of blood.

"No fracture," I said, keeping my tone professional. "But it's going to look awful for a few days. You'll scare small children."

While I tended to Luke's bleeding nose, Peter had turned his attention to the recovered files. He scrolled quickly, occasionally pausing to read sections more carefully. His expression shifted from concentration to shock.

"Oh my God," he said, leaning closer to the screen. "This person... could it really be Howard?"

I pressed a cold compress against Luke's swollen nose. "Peter, help Luke find a room to rest."

"Keep your head elevated," I instructed Luke. "It will help reduce the swelling."

As Peter helped Luke to his feet, he couldn't resist adding, "Boss, I've been reading these files. Everything points to Howard. The patterns, the methods, the timing. Could he really still be alive?"

I glanced at the monitor displaying the now-visible jumble of text and data fragments. "Dead or alive, we need to find this person first. Then we'll know the truth."

After they left, I pulled the keyboard closer and began methodically examining the recovered data. My eyes burned with fatigue, but I forced myself to focus. These weren't random files—they were detailed observation notes. Someone had been recording the habits, behavior patterns, and operational methods of a methodical individual.

Reading through them, my stomach tightened. It was all there—his unique approaches to problem-solving, his attention to detail, even his preferences for working at specific times.

"Howard," I whispered, scrolling through page after page.