Chapter 27 Twenty six

Chapter 27 Twenty six
Eric

The rest of the day moved in short, clipped intervals. Every meeting felt like background noise. Every conversation faded into the same flat tone. My mind stayed locked on the same point. Someone inside my own company had crossed a line, and I could not pretend it was nothing.

By late afternoon, the legal department called me in for the Valley project review. The conference room was already filled when I arrived. Papers spread across the long table. A few laptops open with charts displayed. The usual faces were present. All of them familiar. All of them calm.

I took a seat near the head of the table. The meeting began with the standard updates. Legal issues. Financial projections. Contract deadlines. But I watched the people more than I listened. I watched who avoided eye contact. Who looked too relaxed. Who glanced at me when they thought I would not notice.

Halfway through the meeting, something caught my attention on the screen. A name appeared in the digital report. The same name that had been forged on the hotel request. David Lorne.

He sat two seats down, typing notes into his laptop. Everything about him appeared routine. Focused. Professional. Calm. But the name on the forged request had matched his signature style too closely to ignore.

I studied him quietly. Precise movements. Controlled posture. A mind that worked in long lines rather than scattered pieces. The type of person who could plan something carefully enough to go unnoticed.

He sensed me looking and lifted his eyes for a moment. Not alarmed. Not nervous. Just aware. Then he returned to typing.

The meeting ended twenty minutes later. People gathered their things. Conversations rose and fell around the room. I remained seated until most had left. When the room thinned, I stood and walked out into the hallway.

I spotted David near the elevator.

“David,” I said.

He turned. “Yes, sir?”

“I want a few minutes.”

He nodded without hesitation. “Of course.”

We stepped into a small private office nearby. I closed the door and faced him.

“Someone attempted to access restricted company files this week,” I said. “The attempt was internal.”

He kept a steady expression. “That is concerning. Do you know which department?”

“Not yet.”

A small pause followed.

“Have you noticed anything unusual in your own division?” I asked.

“No,” he said. “Everything has been standard.”

He spoke clearly, but something in the tone felt off. Not defensive. Not overly calm. Controlled. Too controlled.

I watched him closely. “A request was made to an outside institution under your name.”

His posture stayed still. “I have not made any outside requests recently.”

“It was forged,” I said. “Perfectly forged.”

He blinked once. “That is troubling.”

Another pause. A shade too long.

“Why would someone choose your name?” I asked.

His jaw tightened for one second. “I do not know.”

He looked straight at me. His expression remained polite, but something behind his eyes shifted. A brief calculation. A silent adjustment. He was thinking quickly, and he did not want me to know what direction his thoughts were heading.

“I will review my department logs,” he said. “If someone is using my name, I want to know who.”

I nodded once. “Do that.”

He left the room, closing the door behind him. When the latch clicked, I exhaled slowly. The conversation was clean. Too clean. He answered correctly. He reacted appropriately. But the tension under his calm surface suggested something else.

I stepped out into the hallway again. My assistant walked toward me with a file in her hands.

“This was left at the front desk for you,” she said. “No one signed it.”

My pulse grew sharper. “When?”

“A few minutes ago.”

I took the file and opened it. Inside was a single sheet of paper. No message. No signature. Just a printed photograph.

The hotel hallway from four years ago.

The angle matched the security camera location.

The hallway where Cassandra’s records were erased.

Someone had a copy of the footage.

Someone wanted me to see it.

I stared at the photo for several seconds. My heartbeat grew heavier in my chest. There was no figure in the hallway. Just the image itself, printed cleanly on high quality paper.

A calculated reminder.

A clear warning.

Footsteps sounded behind me. I closed the folder before anyone else could see and walked quickly toward my office. Once inside, I locked the door and placed the photo on my desk.

Someone was not just searching.

Someone was watching.

Someone had access to footage that was supposed to be sealed and destroyed.

I sat down slowly. The silence in the room felt sharp.

Whoever this was, they had reached into the past and laid it at my feet.

This was no longer a distant threat. No longer a quiet test.

This was the first cut.

And they wanted me to feel it.