“Call her parents,” Ansel barks at Breck. “Find out if she’s there.”
Breck dials as we run. “Mrs. Ray? It’s Breck Jacobs. Is Remy there with you?” His face goes pale. “She’s not? When did she say she was coming? Okay. No, I’m sure she’s fine. We’re tracking her now. I’ll call you back.”
He hangs up. “She told her mom she was coming over an hour ago. She never arrived.”
We’re in the SUV within seconds. Our driver, Joshua, doesn’t ask questions, just takes the address I give him.
I pull up every camera feed I can access remotely, searching for the location where Remy’s phone went dark.
“There.” I tap the screen. “Small shopping center. Coffee shop, dry cleaner, pharmacy.”
I hack into the coffee shop’s security system. The footage from fifteen minutes ago loads: Remy walking out of the shop, carrying coffee and a pastry bag. She looks relaxed. Happy.
She makes it halfway across the parking lot. Then two men attack. Remy fights, but they’re too fast. One covers her mouth. The coffee and pastries hit the ground. Her phone falls. She bites down, manages one scream before they drag her toward a van. One of the men picks up her phone and crushes it under his boot.
Twenty seconds. That’s all it took.
“Fuck.” The word tears out of me. “They took her.”
Ansel leans over my shoulder, watching the footage. His face goes white. “When?”
“Fifteen minutes ago.” My hands are shaking. “They have a fifteen-minute head start.”
By the time our SUV screeches into the parking lot, police cars are already here.
I’m out before we fully stop. I see her crushed phone and spilled coffee spreading across the asphalt. Pastries are scattered on the ground. The rideshare car is still here, and police are interviewing the driver.
My phone buzzes, and it’s Adam, our head of security.
Adam:Footage pulled from the building. Remy left at 2:17 PM. We’re pulling traffic cams now to track the van.
Me:Track every camera in a ten-mile radius. Find that van.
Ansel is already talking to a police officer, giving them descriptions from the security footage.
“Send additional security to Remy’s parents’ house,” Ansel barks into his phone. “I want them protected.” He ends the call and looks at Breck. “Go with them. They need to know what’s happening, and they need someone there if Trent tries to contact them.”
Breck’s already moving. “Call me the second you know anything.”
“I promise.”
As Breck leaves, my phone buzzes again.
Adam:Found proof of an internal leak.
I show Ansel the message.
“Someone helped them,” I say flatly.
We get back in the SUV. I’m already pulling up our company’s security logs. If someone on the inside gave them information, there will be a trail.
I start with Damon’s accounts. His company email is clean, but I dig deeper—network traffic, encrypted communications, metadata from every device that’s touched our systems, including his personal phone.
The results load: dozens of encrypted messages between Damon’s phone and a burner phone.
I decrypt the first message.
Unknown Number:Need everything you can get on Remy Ray. Schedules, addresses, habits, weaknesses.
