Chapter 5; The Anonymous Tip

(Gabriel POV)

Sitting in my office on the top floor, I feel so agitated.

It's been days, and my phone sits on the mahogany desk like a log.

I keep glancing at my watch, waiting for a notification, a text message, a call, anything from the woman I met at the masked ball and with whom I spent a passionate night.

I left my private number; I never do that. I'm a man who builds walls to earn a living, and yet I gave her the key to my privacy and she didn't use it.

"Sir?" My deputy, Leo, is standing at the door, looking nervous. He has good reason to be; I haven't been easy to work with this week.

"Eclipse club surveillance," I retorted sharply, without looking up from my tablet. "Did you receive it?"

"The club has a strict privacy policy, Gabriel. They use signal jammers and infrared shielding to prevent any recording. But we managed to get some grainy footage of the main entrance and service elevators."

"Bring it to me now."

I need to see his face; it's been hard to forget him.

Throughout my life, women have made advances towards me, but none have ever made me lose control.

She wanted neither my money nor my name, she didn't even want to see my face.

Leo places a laptop on my desk, the image is dark but I catch a fleeting glimpse of a purple backless dress.

I see her heading towards the exit, head held high, her gait imbued with a defiant grace. But the mask remains in place, even when she leaves the hotel at dawn.

"Analyze her gait using the recognition software," I ordered in a hoarse voice. "Reconstruct her height and build in relation to the guest list. No matter the cost, find her."

I look away from the screen, my heart pounding. Who is she? And why is she the only thing I can taste?

A shrill notification from my computer interrupts my concentration.

It's a personal email, not a professional email, and it's going through an encrypted server that I don't recognize.

The message subject is empty.

I click to open it.

My eyes scan the files, the spreadsheets, the bank statements from the Cayman Islands. Video clips of a woman sitting at a terminal she is not authorized to use.

The blood drains from my face, my breath catches.

The woman in the video is Sophia, my executive assistant. My loyal collaborator for eight years.

I continue scrolling, and I discover emails. Then draft messages addressed to a shell company linked to Laurent Dynamics, Damien Laurent's company.

She betrayed me; I can't believe she gave that idiot Damien the plans for my software project.

The heat starts at the base of my neck and rises up to my face.

It's not just anger, it's a cold and violent feeling of betrayal.

I allowed this woman to attend my meetings. I entrusted her with the management of my schedule; I entrusted her with the very heart of my empire.

"Leo!" I roared.

He rushes back inside. "Sir?"

"Check this," I barked, pointing at the screen. "Every line. If it's fake, I want to know within ten minutes. If it's real, tell security to be ready."

Ten minutes feel like hours as I pace around the office, the silence of the room giving me the impression of absolute emptiness.

My mind is a whirlwind of calculations. How much did she give him? How long has Damien been laughing behind my back?

Léo returns, his face pale. "It's true, Gabriel. The bank accounts exist, the timestamps in the server logs correspond to her nighttime access. The data she was about to send tonight is the very heart of the software. She planned to sell it to a Chinese company for fifty million."

The internal explosion is instantaneous. With a sudden movement, I sweep my desk and hurl a heavy glass and a stack of files to the other end of the room.

They crash to the floor, but it's not enough. I grab the leather armchair and push it back so violently that it hits the window with a dull thud.

"Fifty million?" I yelled. "She sold her life's work for the price of a yacht?"

I grab a crystal water carafe and throw it against the back wall. It shatters into a thousand sparkling diamonds.

I am the one who boasts of always being ten steps ahead, and I sleep with a viper in my garden.

"Bring her in," I said, my voice suddenly and terribly calm. "Don't just stand there, Leo, grab that traitor now!"

A minute later, Sophia enters. She is wearing a professional grey suit and her hair is styled in a neat bun.

She looks perfect and innocent. It makes me want to burn the building down.

"Gabriel?" she said in a soft, confused voice. "Are you all right? Leo said it was urgent."

I'm not speaking, I'm simply turning the screen towards her.

I watch her, I see the precise moment when the color disappears from her lips. I see her eyes widen, then she rushes towards the door.

"Gabriel, I... it's not what it seems," she stammered, her hands trembling.

"So tell me what it looks like, Sophia," I said, stepping towards her, my shadow towering over her.

"Do you look like a traitor? Do you look like a thief? Because as far as I'm concerned, you're finished."

"Please! Gabriel, let me explain!" she cried, reaching for my arm. I recoiled as if her touch were acidic.

"Explain to me those fifty million in the Cayman Islands? Explain to me those emails to Damien Laurent? What else did you do?" I yelled, my voice echoing off the walls. "How many secrets did you whisper to him while I was sitting a meter and a half away from you?"

She collapses to her knees, tears streaming down her face. Her ideal assistant is gone.

"I can explain, please don't call the police. I'll give it back to you! I'll tell you everything!"

"You won't tell me anything," I snarl. I look at Leo.

"Get her away from me, hand over the evidence to the authorities. I want her banned from every company in the hemisphere. If she so much as lays eyes on a computer, I want her in prison."

"Gabriel, please! Have mercy!" she screams as security guards grab her arms.

"Pity?" I lean in, my face inches from hers. "You showed no pity for the thousands of people who work for this company when you tried to sell them their future. Fire her!"

Her cries faded as they dragged her down the corridor. I stood rooted to the spot in the middle of my devastated office, surrounded by shattered glass and scattered papers. My breath came in short gasps, my chest tight.

“Sir,” said Leo. “We have a vacancy to fill immediately. The software project is at a critical stage. We need someone capable of auditing security and managing the consequences of the incident.”

"I know," I mutter, massaging my temples. "Publish the ad, I need maximum security clearance. I want a genius, Leo. Not a secretary, a genius."

I sat back down at my desk, my gaze drifting towards the dark CCTV images of the woman in the purple dress.

Two things happened today: I lost my temper and I realized I was being watched by someone very, very intelligent.

The person who sent me this email not only told me the truth, but also annoyed me.

They knew exactly how I was going to react and they manipulated me like an instrument.

I need to follow the anonymous trail before the situation gets worse.

My phone finally vibrates, my heart leaps. Is it her? The woman I met at the masked ball.

I glance at the screen, then sigh in frustration. It's an alert from our HR portal.

New application received: Executive Assistant / Technical Manager.

I click on the profile, there is no photo, just a name: Claire Laurent.

I'm paralyzed. Laurent? Like Damien's wife?