Page 180 of Matteo

And the person who did, the person who used my credentials? Somewhere, they'll have left their own fingerprints behind.

Not literal fingerprints.

Digital ones.

My mouth turns dry, my insides queasy with the idea that someone out there, a nameless, faceless person, wants to target me. A person who is intentional and specific. My stomach tightens at the thought that someone wants to hurt me. For the life of me I cannot figure out who, or why.

This shift happened around the time Matteo told Alex what I’d discovered—that it was highly likely that this was an inside job. We were going to keep this to ourselves, but then Matteo told Alex. And after we left for Dubrovnik, after he confided in the one person he trusted most, the tech glitches no longer targeted the company.

They started to target me.

I bolt upright in bed.

No way.

Alex.

Alex?

Could he be the one behind all of this?

No.

I refuse to believe it.

Like Matteo did.

Alex has been so good to me, and he’s always so steady and grounded. Dependable and calm. He's Matteo's right-hand man ... which is precisely why he wouldn’t come under suspicion.

I still can’t believe it. Even now, with everything lining up, some stubborn part of me resists.

Suspicion isn't enough. Matteo needs conclusive proof that can’t be argued with. Something Alex can’t explain away.

Only Alex knew about my suspicions. Not Sonny or Joel.

But what if Alex told Sonny or Joel?

There are so many possibilities, and I need to do something clever to catch the culprit.

***

By the time I get into the office the next morning, my heart is racing like I’ve sprinted a mile. I barely look at anyone as I head for my desk, drop my bag and power up my machine.

I didn’t sleep much after I had that realization, and while I should be exhausted, the adrenaline coursing through me keeps me wide awake and alert. I glance around quickly. Everything looks calm. Normal. Just another day at work. There’s nothing to suggest that there’s a saboteur sitting among us. Nothing to suggest I’ve spent the last few weeks with my reputation in pieces while the real culprit watches from somewhere close by.

I pull up the logs and examine them again. That change in pattern is all too obvious now that I know. The early incidents have one rhythm—probing, testing, minor acts of disruption.

Enough to make Paul Knight paranoid. Enough to justify bringing in an outside expert.

Me.

I stop thinking about the need to prove my innocence and start thinking like the person I used to be. Not the girl everyone underestimated. Or the woman half this office thinks slept with the boss to get ahead.

The other version of me. The one who knows how people move when they think no one’s watching. The one who understands temptation and curiosity and the itch to touch the thing you know you shouldn’t. I remember something that Vlad taught me early on. You don’t catch people by chasing them. You catch them by giving them somewhere to go.

So I create it carefully. The trap.

A honeytoken.