Only the devil, p.22
Only the Devil, page 22
Typically, I’d text Rhodes. But this warrants a call.
“Everything okay?”
He answers on the first ring, and a strange brew of warmth and guilt simmers. He’s more than a boss—he’s a friend I don’t deserve, given I left him high and dry.
“Daisy? You okay?”
“I need to get back into ARGUS.” A pause. Long enough for me to hear him breathing.
“You still have access.” My fingers freeze over the laptop keyboard.
“You... What?”
“I never accepted your resignation. Why would you think I’d block your access?”
“Because anyone else on the planet would—” It’s been over a month since I bailed on you…
“What’s going on?”
His voice has that edge I recognize from when he’s preparing for an important meeting.
I set the phone down on the desk, eyes darting to the closed door, all paranoid-like, as I dig out my personal laptop with the ARGUS portal installed. When I pick up the phone again, he’s still waiting.
“Daisy.”
“I’m here.”
“Talk to me.”
The login screen appears, my credentials still active. Of course they are. Rhodes is pure gold.
“Reed’s autopsy came back.”
Silence.
“And?”
“Digitalis poisoning. They’re calling it suicide.”
“But you don’t think so.”
It’s not a question. Rhodes knows me well enough to read the subtext in my voice, the way I’m breathing, probably the exact cadence of my typing in the background.
“He kept a .45 in his nightstand drawer. Cleaned it regularly.” I pull up ARGUS, muscle memory navigating to the financial tracking modules. “Since when does a thirty-year Army vet go foraging for foxglove?”
“How many deaths are now tied to that company?”
“Two. Maybe three.” My voice drops to barely above a whisper. “Rhodes, I think I’m in over my head here.”
“I can be there in four hours.”
“No.” The word comes out sharper than intended. “I mean... Jake’s here. Your guy. He’s good.”
Another pause. Longer this time.
“Is he?” There’s something in his voice I can’t quite parse. Not jealousy—Rhodes doesn’t do jealousy. But something territorial. Protective.
“He’s fine, Rhodes. I’m fine. I just need to dig deeper into Sterling’s financials. Look for payments, connections...”
“Daisy.” His voice is gentle now, the way it gets when he’s about to tell me something I don’t want to hear. “You’re not fine. And you’re not a field operative. ” I close my eyes, hating how well he knows me.
“I can handle this.”
“That’s what worries me.” The words hang there, weighted with everything he’s not saying. How I ran. How he let me. How we both know I’m playing in a game I don’t fully comprehend and pretending it’s just another coding challenge. “Just...be careful, okay?”
The line goes quiet, but he doesn’t hang up. Neither do I.
“He’s unethical, Rhodes. My instincts were spot on. I got a little hazy there for a bit, but…”
“What do you mean by hazy?”
“Nothing. It doesn’t matter. I need to uncover evidence and get out of here.”
“No, Daisy. Not you. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you since you took off on this mission of yours. You are a programmer. One of the best. But you aren’t a trained investigator. You’ve been there for almost two months now, and you haven’t uncovered anything useful. Use the team at your disposal. Use KOAN.”
Right. Because trusting anyone else has gone so well for me.
CHAPTER 29
JAKE
Thompson called in sick today. The guy didn’t even bother to feign a cough. He’s clearly hung over. It’s no sweat off my back — they really don’t need two of us on duty.
After last night, it’s been especially nice to have a slow morning. I meant it when I told her I love her. We didn’t discuss what that means, but we’ve got time. When she’s done with this — and she will be done; she’s not going to continue working for a guy like Sterling forever — we can figure things out. She said she worked remotely for ARGUS. With KOAN I likely won’t have that luxury, but even if I’m traveling back to her on weekends or between assignments, I have no doubt we’ll keep seeing each other and see where this thing goes. It’s a comforting feeling — the sensation that you’ve found something, someone solid. That we’ve got a good thing.
A flash on the monitor catches my attention. Daisy exits Sterling’s office, twisting her silver ring. If I had to guess, whatever happened in the room with the two Middle Eastern men didn’t sit well. She returns to her office.
I bounce the stress ball up and down, scanning the six monitors.
Daisy moves between her laptop and computer, talking to herself.
Daisy exits her office.
Now she’s in the elevator, and I watch, sitting up straight when she enters the lobby. She marches straight to the security room, and I’m up with the door open before she can knock.
“What’s up?” I scan the lobby over her shoulder, though I already know no one’s there. Mona, the temp receptionist, is reading a paperback and doesn’t bother to look our way.
Daisy steps past me and I shut the door behind her.
“Can we talk?”
“Sure.” I step past her so I can keep an eye on the monitors. If anyone comes this way, I’ll see them. “What’s going on?”
I study her face — the pale skin, the furrow in her brow, the way her jaw’s clenched so tight I can practically see the muscle jump. “Did something happen?”
“No. Well, yes.” She paces like a caged animal; her hands are balled into fists at her sides. Three steps to the wall, pivot, three steps back. “We need to come up with a plan.”
“I agree.”
“It’s time to wrap this up.” She stops mid-pace and whirls to face me. Her voice rises, tight with barely controlled agitation. “I know you’re getting two salaries, but I can’t—” She cuts herself off, dragging both hands through her hair. “God, I’m sorry. That’s not—this isn’t about money.”
“Hey — what happened?” She’s gnawing on her thumbnail, the nail bitten down to the quick. I gently pull her hand away from her mouth, bending so she has to look me in the eye. “Daze?”
“Alvin Reed was murdered. Autopsy results came back.”
“Cause of death?”
“Poison. Presumed suicide.” Her laugh is bitter, sharp. “He was a veteran, Jake. I mean, come on.”
I hear her. “And they jumped to suicide?”
“I don’t think they cared, Jake.” She slams her palm against the wall; the sound echoes in the small room. “Why would they care about a veteran living in a rental with no family? I requested the autopsy. I paid for the autopsy. The police didn’t.” Her breath comes in short, sharp bursts. I recognize the signs of someone about to spiral.
“Bring the report to the police. There’ll be a record. Someone’s going to see they didn’t find poison—”
“That’s the thing.” She turns to face me; there’s a fierce burn in those golden-brown eyes now. “They won’t ever care about Uncle Alvin. But they’ll care about Sterling — about who he’s connected to, what he’s hiding.” Her hands are shaking. “Jake — what can KOAN do? What can we do?”
She’s done with this gig. Learning Alvin Reed was murdered is her last straw. I get that. From a murder-investigation angle there’s not much we can do. But tactically? I run through variables like I would before any mission: known threats, available assets, tactical opportunities. In special ops, when you can’t go through the target, you make the target come to you.
“Alvin Reed, the comptroller, the Singapore executive — they were all problems, right?” I watch her process. “What did they all have in common?”
“They knew something. Or Sterling thought they did.” She’s following my logic. “Right. So what happens when someone becomes a problem?”
Daisy snaps her fingers. “I have to become a problem. We’ll set a trap.”
I enclose her hands in mine. “No.” Setting Daisy up as the cheese in a mousetrap is not the plan. “But you’re thinking tactically now. What asset do we have that Sterling values?”
She frowns, then her eyes widen. “The symposium presentation. I promised to look over the presentation Gilda’s creating and insert some slides about AI market monitoring.”
“This weekend? He’s asked Thompson and me to be present as security.”
“Why? You think he’s expecting something to happen?”
“No. The prick wants to look like a big wig. But we can make something happen.”
I set the desk phone to speaker and dial, keeping one eye on the security monitors. “Hudson, this is Jake. Do you have a minute?”
“I do.”
“Daisy’s with me.” I watch her sink into the chair across from my desk, still wound tight as a spring.
“Does this have anything to do with the text I just received from Rhodes MacMillan asking me to call him?”
“That’s probably my doing,” Daisy says, twisting that ring like a top. Her leg bounces with nervous energy. “Alvin Reed’s autopsy results came in.”
She gives Hudson the sixty-second update; her voice grows steadier as she focuses on facts instead of fury. I can see the tension in her shoulders, the way she grips the desk when she gets to the police not caring. Hudson concurs — no suicidal Army veteran goes hunting for poisonous flowers.
“I’ve got contacts with the LAPD,” Hudson says through the speaker. “Send me the autopsy, and I’ll see if I can get a case opened.”
Daisy shakes her head, though Hudson can’t see it. “The apartment’s clean. New tenants even. If there’s any evidence, it’s gone.”
I tap my fingers on the desk, thinking through the timeline. Too clean, too fast.
“You’ll be amazed at what they can find. Cases decades old get solved,” Hudson says. “Is that all?”
I straighten, shifting into operation mode. “No. There’s a crypto symposium this weekend. Sterling’s going to be there and he wants me on duty — theoretically because of protesters. I’ve got an idea, but to pull it off I’ll need backup. I know I’ve been slow to request additional resources—”
“You’ve refused backup.” Hudson’s not wrong.
“Right. Well, I’ve got an idea. The murder victims all have one thing in common — I believe they became a problem.” I look to Daisy. “What if we create another problem? Daisy will have access to the presentation. What if we alter it — create a perceived risk. Then we monitor Sterling: see who he calls, how he reacts.”
“What would you put in the presentation?” Hudson asks.
“I have some ideas,” Daisy answers.
“If we do this, do you have resources you can send?”
“I’ll send Noah and Brie.”
“Hey, Jake, this is Quinn.”
“Hey Quinn. You volunteering to come up here?” I glance at Daisy, who’s stopped twisting her ring to listen.
“No, she’s not.” Hudson’s voice cuts through before Quinn can answer.
“That’s not my scene, Jake. But did you see my update on the portal?”
“No, I haven’t logged in today.”
“Roger Thompson’s background report came in — he’s got two felonies: one assault, one theft.” My hand freezes over the keyboard. I exchange a look with Daisy; her eyebrows shoot up. “Did you interview him for that position?”
“No. He started one day after me. I’m not privy to hiring details.” I scratch at my jaw, where stubble sprouted overnight, mind racing through every interaction I’ve had with Thompson. “Quinn, run that by me again.”
“I’d say he may not have revealed his history, but these aren’t juvie records. They’d come up in any basic background report.”
“Which means they know about his record.” I tug at my chin, thinking the implications through.
“What’s your take on Thompson?” Hudson asks.
“You mean, does assault and theft square with what I know of him? The answer’s no. Am I shocked? Also no.” He’s not good, not bad — he just is. “I haven’t shared anything with him, and I won’t.”
“Why?” Daisy asks. “What do you think he’s… could he be—”
“He’s a new hire. There’s no reason to think he was working for Sterling before he joined the security detail here,” I say, both to calm her and to process what I’m hearing.
“I’ll check his financials,” Quinn says. “I didn’t dig that deep yet.”
“Alright,” Hudson says. “Expect a team to arrive tomorrow. It’ll give you forty-eight hours to plan and prepare.”
Daisy stays quiet, but I can see her unraveling. Her ring-twisting has escalated to pulling at her jacket sleeves; a muscle jumps in her jaw that tells me she’s grinding her teeth.
Movement on monitor three catches my eye — Sterling and the two investors stepping into the elevator. My pulse kicks up a notch. I tap Daisy’s shoulder and point at the screen. Her face goes pale as she recognizes the investors from earlier, and she practically launches out of her chair.
“I’m heading out, guys,” she says, already halfway to the door. She slips from the room, and I wait until the door closes.
“Sterling’s on his way down with investors. Daisy’s heading back up to her office.” I switch to the lobby camera, tracking her across the marble floor.
“Do you think he suspects anything?” Hudson asks.
“Well, as we all know, he’s connected Daisy’s past with Alvin Reed. But he sees her as valuable and he thinks he owns her. He didn’t want that class-action suit, but she’s given him no reason to think she’s stirring that pot, so—”
“What’s your assessment? I’m going to need to report back to Rhodes.”
“My assessment is I’ll keep her safe.” Hearing myself, I sound angry, but that’s not exactly it.
“You need additional security backup? Not for the plan this weekend, but for Daisy?”
I watch Sterling and his guests disappear around the corner on camera four. “Sterling has big plans for Daisy. He’s counting on her to create an AI system that can forecast market fluctuations and help him peg winners. The meme coins he’s chasing are volatile — but if he can time the ups and downs, he’ll make a mint. As long as he thinks she’s not a danger, he won’t hurt her.”
And besides, I won’t let him.
Hudson’s silence stretches long enough that I check the speaker to make sure we’re still connected.
“Remember, he gave her a twelve-million-dollar salary. She’s safe, but Quinn—” I lean forward, focusing on the elevator display showing Sterling’s floor. “Have you looked into his funding?”
“What I’ve found is public,” Quinn answers.
“The company had massive layoffs at the beginning of the year. How can he afford that kind of salary?”
“His half-brother’s VC fund invested three billion in 2024. An investor with that much at stake is unlikely to let the company fail,” Quinn says.
“And everything’s above board?” My background is not accounting or business, so I’m relying on the team’s expertise, but something doesn’t smell right.
“Everything we can see,” Quinn says. “Daisy’s the one with access to their database and business portal. She hasn’t found anything?”
“No. But she sent files to a forensic accountant. How long does that usually take?”
“I’ll follow up with her,” Quinn says, and I don’t miss the bite to her tone.
“From what I’ve observed, he’s closest to Weaver, the head of HR. Rumors are they’re an item.”
“I doubt that,” Quinn says.
“Why?”
“She’s related to him. A cousin — his father’s sister’s daughter.”
“Interesting. Well, dollars to doughnuts, any scheme he’s involved in, Weaver’s part and parcel.”
“Where did you say you’re from?” Quinn asks.
Hudson says, “Jake, thank you for the update. I’ll share with MacMillan. His primary concern is Daisy Jonas’s safety, as you know.”
“I won’t let anything happen to her.”
“Copy that. But remember, our goal includes finding out who is providing cover to Sterling Financial. I like your plan. Learning who he contacts when he feels heat will be insightful.”
Yes, it will.
We wrap up the call, and as I sit back watching the monitors flick between corridors, a familiar unease sets in. It’s the unease of going into a situation without an adequate risk assessment. Only this time, it’s not just me and a squadron halfway around the world. No — this time the high-risk territory is home turf, and the woman I love is front and center, and that is all kinds of wrong.
CHAPTER 30
DAISY
The late afternoon sun casts long shadows across the Georgetown University campus and the sleek glass entrance of the Rafik B. Hariri Building. My fingers unconsciously twist the silver rings on my right hand — a nervous habit I’ll probably never shake, especially when I’m walking into the digital equivalent of a lion’s den.
Students rush past with backpacks slung over their shoulders; their chatter about midterms and weekend plans is a stark contrast to the weight pressing against my chest.
I smooth my shirt and adjust my earbuds. The familiar weight of my vintage Metallica tee beneath the stiff blazer offers minimal comfort. The lobby buzzes with activity — tech executives in drab suits mingle with academics in rumpled blazers and cardigans, all clutching conference lanyards and coffee cups.
My phone buzzes.
Quinn
Remember, you’re just another attendee. Act normal.
