Chapter 8
The office was buzzing. The energy was different today-frantic, electric.
Calleigh walked to her desk, a small cubicle in the back corner, shadowed by a large potted fern.
Before she could even set her bag down, Chloe popped up over the partition.
Cal! You made it! Chloe's eyes were wide. Have you seen the internet? It's broken.
Chloe shoved her phone into Calleigh's face. Look! Everyone is trying to find her. Cinderella of the Upper East Side.
Calleigh pushed her glasses up her nose, squinting as if she couldn't see well. Who is that? she mouthed.
Viper rolled his chair over. Heinrich Lloyd's mystery woman. Twitter is trending LloydsLady.
Tank, leaning back in his chair with a donut, pointed at the screen. I'm telling you, look at the calf muscle. That's a dancer. Or a yoga instructor.
Calleigh sat down and turned on her computer. She felt a bead of sweat roll down her back.
Viper zoomed in on the photo. Wait. Look at the bag she's clutching.
Calleigh froze. In the photo, her hand was gripping a small clutch.
It's small, black leather... no logo, Viper said, his voice dropping in disappointment. Could be anything from Zara to Chanel. Useless.
Calleigh's heart hammered. Gerri had forced her to carry that bag last night. It was a status symbol. A beacon. And yet, its very plainness had saved her.
Viper started typing. Okay, let's try a different angle. Facial recognition is out, but maybe we can enhance the reflection in that car window...
Chloe looked at Calleigh. You know, Cal... from the back... she kinda has your hair.
The air in the cubicle seemed to vanish.
Calleigh gripped her mouse. She forced a confused smile. She pointed to her cheap grey suit. Then she pointed to the glamorous woman in the photo. She shook her head and laughed silently.
Me?
Chloe laughed too. Yeah, right. Sorry. I'm hallucinating. Can you imagine? Our Cal dating the Ice King?
Polka, the intern, poked her head in. My cousin works security at Lloyd Tower. He says the boss is actually married. Like, legally. But no one's ever seen her. They say she's a recluse, some European heiress who never leaves the estate.
The group went silent. Then they burst out laughing.
Married? Viper snorted. Heinrich Lloyd? The man is married to his stock portfolio.
While they laughed, Calleigh opened an Excel spreadsheet. But behind the rows of data, she tethered her personal burner phone-a heavily modified device that looked like a power bank-to her machine, routing her connection through a private, encrypted tunnel she'd built into the company's server on her first day. To any IT admin, it would look like she was just streaming music.
She ran a script to flood the social media algorithms with false flags. She created bots that tagged the woman in the photo as three different European actresses.
Dilute the truth. Create noise.
Suddenly, the photo on Chloe's screen vanished. Content Removed.
Hey! Viper yelled. It's gone!
Capitalism at work, Tank muttered. They scrubbed it.
Chloe sighed. Aww. I wanted to see the shoes again.
Calleigh slowly slid her feet further under her desk, hiding her sensible flats in the darkness.
Gordon, the team lead, clapped his hands as he walked out of his office.
Alright, people! Gossip hour is over! Gordon shouted. We have a VIP coming in today. Look busy!
Everyone scrambled back to their desks.
Calleigh stared at her screen. The data from her script showed the photo disappearing from servers worldwide. Heinrich's team was efficient.
But something else caught her eye. A news alert popped up in the corner of her screen.
Lloyd Foundation announces $10 million donation to St. Jude's.
A smokescreen. A nice, charitable headline to bury the bad search results.
Calleigh's fingers flew across the keyboard. She traced the donation transaction number. It routed through a bank in Zurich.
She memorized the routing number. That was a new node in the Lloyd financial map. She could use that.
She was so focused she didn't hear the elevator ding.
She didn't hear the click of expensive heels on the linoleum floor.
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