When the cabin comes into view, it looks solid. Intentional. Wood and stone fitted together without ornament. Smoke curls from a narrow chimney. There are no decorative touches. No planters or wind chimes or anything that exists purely for decoration. Everything here serves a purpose.
It suits him.
Gideon is outside when I pull in. He is leaning against the porch railing, sleeves rolled up, phone in hand. He looks like he belongs exactly where he is, as if the mountain arranged itself around him rather than the other way around.
"You found it," he says as I step out of the car.
"Your directions were clear," I reply.
He pockets his phone and gestures toward the door. "Come in."
Inside, the cabin is warm and cozy. A fire burns low in the fireplace. The main room is open, kitchen on one side, a table and chairs on the other. There is a couch facing the fire, a rug that looks hand-woven, and shelves lined with books. It’s tidy, too, and I wonder if Gideon cleaned up because I was visiting, or if it’s always this way. I suspect the latter. He just seems like the kind of guy who likes things to be tidy and organized.Same as me.
"Coffee?" he asks.
"Please."
He moves to the kitchen and pours two mugs from a pot near the stove. “How do you take it?”
“Black is fine.”
"I figured we could work at the kitchen table," he says, setting our mugs down.
I sit. He takes the chair across from me and sets a thick folder between us.
"I found something," he says.
I set my mug down and lean forward slightly.
"A permissions change," he continues. "Logged after hours. Not from your account. I think they’re the culprit."
My pulse quickens. "Who?"
"Your supervisor," he says. "Warren."
Warren.I sit back, taking in the news.Of courseit would be Warren. He has been with the company long enough to know how the systems work. Long enough to understand where the gaps are. And he has been increasingly irritable over the past few months. Snapping at minor mistakes. Hovering over my shoulder when I work.
"Can you prove it?" I ask.
"I can document the access pattern," Gideon says. "The rest depends on how much cooperation we get from RidgeLine's IT department."
I nod slowly. "What do you need from me?"
"Access to your records," he says. "Anything that shows your normal work patterns. Login times. Transaction histories. I need to build a comparison."
"I can get that," I say.
He slides the folder toward me. "Take a look. Tell me if anything stands out."
I open the folder and start reading. He already has so much information. There are stacks of bank statements, login logs, and email timestamps. The pattern becomes clear quickly. Warren's access coincides with the withdrawals. Not perfectly, but close enough that it cannot be coincidence.
"He was careful," I say.
"Not careful enough," Gideon replies.
I glance up at him. He is watching me with that same steady focus from yesterday. My skin grows hot under his watchful gaze.
"How long have you been doing this?" I ask.
