Page 86 of Matteo

Brunch at the penthouse @ noon

What fresh fucking hell is this? The line reads like a fun-filled invitation on a flier, but it's an email from the old man. Short and to the point.

Brunch?

Since when the fuck do we do brunch?

And on the weekend?

It's too much to deal with getting out of bed on a Saturday morning, so I freshen up and head for the gym in our apartment block.

After I finish my workout I sit in the sauna, letting the heat sink deep into my bones. It's blisteringly hot in here, and sweat drips down my face and body. I sink back against the wooden walls, my head full of too much information, and the heat feeling like a punishment that’s good for me.

I told Elizabeth not to bother coming into work yesterday. Told her I'd rather she got completely well enough to enjoy her weekend. Now I’m wondering if she’s well enough to enjoy it, with me.

Thinking about her makes me want to see her again. It's getting tricky at work keeping my feelings under wraps, because I've got a lot going on. Things are starting to come to a head. The old man doesn’t hassle me about the technical issues as much anymore, but his illness and this not so small issue about him needing a kidney—possibly mine—is an emotional weight I don't need.

Also, ever since Elizabeth suggested there might be a backdoor buried somewhere in the system, I haven't been able to shake the feeling that whoever's behind this knows our infrastructure far too well.

We started with the obvious suspects. Former employees. Contractors. Anyone involved in the major system migrations and upgrades over the last decade. We checked access logs, credentials, termination records, and vendor accounts.

Nothing.

At least nothing that should still be active.

Which leaves a possibility I like even less.

Someone on this floor.

Someone who's still here.

Someone working right under my nose.

That thought doesn't sit easy with me. I pride myself on having a good team, on surrounding myself with people I trust implicitly, and this revelation throws all of that out of whack.

The glitches themselves have slowed, but they haven't stopped. A delayed vendor payment last week. An unexplained permissions change two days ago. Small things on their own that are easy to dismiss, but when viewed together, they form a pattern that's becoming increasingly difficult to ignore.

Someone is still probing our systems.

Still testing boundaries.

Still hiding in the shadows.

And right now, I have no idea who it is.

I have problems I need to deal with but being in the middle of donor testing for the old man is proving difficult to ignore. I've already passed the tissue-typing stage and I'm scheduled for crossmatch testing next. I find this oddly reassuring and deeply worrying.

I haven't had a chance to speak to Zach about it, and I'm curious to know how things are progressing for him. Or Jett, for that matter. Last I heard, he'd passed the initial blood compatibility testing, but I don't know where he stands now.

None of us are particularly eager to volunteer a kidney to the old man.

The door opens and Rio walks in, a towel over his shoulder, and one wrapped around his waist.

“Did you hear?” he asks.

“I heard. Why d'you think I'm in here?”

He laughs and sits down across from me.