Game of Lies

by Amanda K. Byrne

I nod. “I think I spelled it right. I remember the first time I saw it I thought of that scientist, Sagan?” One side of his mouth quirks up in a reluctant smile. He nods, and I continue. “Anyway. Sager was on that list of deals I gave you. It’s the only one I can remember off the top of my head, other than the Nautilus project. Do you still have the list somewhere?”

  “At the office. In one of my desk drawers, I think.” He sighs and pulls his phone from his pocket. “What does the missing Sager file have to do with your idea?”

  I hug myself tighter. “What if Constantine’s the one who deleted it? Just now.”

  He shrugs. “Sager ended up not being worth the money we would have spent, so it’s kind of a moot point if the information’s gone from the server.”

  Is he being dense on purpose? Or am I just not explaining myself well? “That’s not why I brought it up, Nick. The folder on Sager held everything having to do with the deal. The contract drafts, negotiation points, the offer, the counter offer. And all the correspondence relating to the deal. All of it.”

  When I was searching through the files, the correspondence was what I paid the most attention to. There were some heated e-mails exchanged between the cousins. A few were downright nasty. For as close as they are, Constantine and Nick didn’t hesitate to throw down when it came to their shared business holdings.

  Makes me wonder if it’s the same with family business.

  “Those e-mails and memos are the closest thing to evidence there is. If Constantine is the one deleting it, it’s all the more damning.” Nick’s expression is coated in an inches-thick layer of ice. God, I want to slink into a corner. “Am I paranoid? Maybe. Am I accusing your cousin for no reason? Possibly. Give me someone else,” I whisper. “Give me another suspect. Please.” I will do anything to get Nick to stop looking at me like that. Anything except the one thing guaranteed to tear down this wall rising between us.

  I can’t ignore my suspicions about Constantine any longer.

  I swallow around the sudden lump in my throat. “How do you delete files off the server? Can anyone do it?”

  “Anyone with access. Remote access will leave the files cached, though.” He’s so distant. He might as well be on the other side of the world from me. “To truly delete the files, you have to access the server directly.”

  I take a step toward him, flinching when he arches a brow. Does he know how much this hurts? I’ve told him. I know I have. He knows Constantine is my least favorite choice. “Who has direct access to the server? Everyone?”

  “Not the server room. It’s pass coded, and the terminals on each server have several passwords that are changed weekly. There’s an activity log, again password protected. Con, Peter, and I have access to the server, as well as a few other key employees. Cory’s assistant has been given access for the duration of the app launch with the understanding it will be revoked once the project is finished.”

  Okay. A list. We’ll make a list, like we did with Isaiah. “Who has access to the activity log?”

  “Me, Peter, and Con.” His other brow shoots up, challenging me to bad mouth Constantine.

  But I’m not taking that bait. I lower my arms. “We should get moving then.” Any further delay could result in more deleted files, and I need those files. Hard copies, yes, but digital ones, and their timestamps. If I can’t get my hands on a smoking gun, so to speak, I’ll take that information to someone who may listen to my far-out theory.

  Who that person would be, I don’t know.

  Nick lifts his phone.

  “Wait. Who are you calling?” Please let it be Peter. Or his sister. Or his mother.

  “Con. To ask him to meet us at the office. This is his business too, Cassidy. If there’s something wrong with the server, this affects him as well.”

  I want to pry the phone from his hands. I link my fingers together to keep from doing that. “Would you humor me for a little while? Just until we get to the server and check the activity log.”

  From the way he stares me down, I’m certain he’s not going to do as I ask. I’m prepared to beg when he lowers his phone. “Get your coat.”

  Legs weak with relief, I shuffle out of the office and through the depressingly bare living room. I snag my jacket, the hanger falling to the floor in my haste. I grab Nick’s and pass it to him after he props his crutches against the wall.

  The car ride is painful. Every topic of potential conversation I think of sounds trite or otherwise unimportant. I don’t want to talk about anything important, though. Not with Nick doing his best impression of a snowman in the passenger seat.

  But even the unimportant feels important right now. As though this next conversation could change the dynamic between us, and I can’t afford to screw up.

  I don’t know how to get him to understand that I wouldn’t accuse Constantine of murder on a whim. If Nick came to me and said he thought Denise was trying to kill me, I’d laugh in his face. I’d keep laughing and insist he’s delusional as he calmly lays out his suspicions and what he says is evidence. Because there’s no way in hell my best friend would want me dead.

  “Is that it?” I ask suddenly. “Is this whole thing like you telling me Denise is trying to kill me?” I double park in front of the office and turn to Nick.

  His brows draw together, his expression dark despite the streetlight shining down. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  I ignore the car horns behind us. “I’m trying to figure out why my suspicions about Constantine piss you off so much. You don’t believe me. You also know him a lot better than I do. The closest I can get is Denise. I wouldn’t believe you if you said she’s the one shooting at us. I’ve known her for years. She’s my best friend. Closer than that.”

  Another blast from a car horn, and I flinch. Nick doesn’t move to get out of the car, though. He studies me for so long we both flinch at the next car horn. “Yeah,” he says. “That’s close.”

  He gathers up his crutches and gets out of the car. Bending down, he sticks his head inside. “That’s close enough, Cass.” He shuts the door and makes his way across the sidewalk to the front door of the building.

  I have no idea what to do with this new understanding.

  Chapter 23

  I’ve never noticed how loud the eighth floor is until I’m standing outside the elevator, listening for extraneous noise. Since a good portion of the floor is taken up by the servers, it’s cool, bordering on cold, and there’s a constant hum, like hundreds of refrigerators running. No voices as I approach the cracked-open door to the server room, though. It took longer than I expected to find a parking spot on the street. Nick’s been up here on his own for a good twenty minutes. He should be talking to himself, or swearing, or…or…something to let me know he’s here.

  Apparently, paranoia makes me selfish.

  Cold air washes over me as I step inside. Nick’s standing in front of the server terminal, crutches propping him up and a frown marring his face. The frown spurs a cautious hope. Will he take me seriously now? I shut the door behind me and walk over, my footsteps muffled by the humming. “What’s up?”

  “Someone’s fucking with us.” He pokes a few keys, and his frown deepens.

  I peer around him at the monitor. Names and timestamps are laid it out in neat rows. “Why do you think that?”

  He points to the most recent entry. “Cory supposedly accessed the server from the terminal about an hour ago.”

  The temperature in the room plunges from cold to freezing. “Cory’s dead.”

  “Exactly.”

  I shiver once and resist the urge to rub my hands up and down my arms. “Wasn’t Cory’s access deactivated after he died?”

  Nick shakes his head. “It was easier to allow Loren to continue using Cory’s password than set up an entirely new set of permissions.” Loren must be Cory’s assistant. Nick’s fingers race over the keyboard, and the activity log disappears. “The first step is to enter y
our individual password. If it’s recognized, it’ll take to you the next screen where you enter the first of the rotating passwords. There are four in all.”

  “Anyone who knew Cory’s password and the terminal passwords could have gotten in.” I lower my arms and tuck my hands into my pockets. “Do you think it was Loren?”

  “No,” he murmurs. “Loren’s been out of town the last two days. Family emergency.”

  Constantine wouldn’t be happy about that. I add it to my mental list. “Why would someone want you to think Cory was the one accessing the server?”

  Another fan kicks on somewhere in the room, and I shiver again. Nick adjusts his crutches and returns his attention to the keyboard. “Someone wanting to play a joke?”

  “A sick one,” I mutter. Wrong doesn’t even begin to cover it.

  “Most likely it’s to cover his tracks. The activity log isn’t un-hackable, but neither Peter, Con, or I have the permissions to edit or alter it.”

  I shut my eyes. It’s there in his tone; he still doesn’t want to believe his cousin could be behind all this. I might as well beat my head against a brick wall. I’d probably get further. “Who has access to the server?”

  He starts rattling off names, and I hold up a hand to stop him. “Hold on.” I don’t have anything to write with—or on—but I take out my phone. It’s newer than my old one, and it’s got so many fucking apps it takes me a few seconds to figure out where the notepad one is. By the time I’ve got it open, Nick’s struggling not to smile. “Shut up.”

  “Wasn’t saying anything.” He gives in, and the smile spreads across his face.

  “No, but you were thinking it. Rather loudly too. First name?”

  “Terry Schneider.” He lists three other employees in addition to him, Constantine, Cory, and Peter.

  “Any of them have a connection to the Sager deal?” I slip the phone back into my pocket. Several fans click off, the noise level in the room decreasing significantly, which makes it really easy to hear the footsteps in the hall. I tense and press my back against the server. The footsteps grow louder, and I scan what I can see of the room, ready to bolt. Best cover is to round the server, then skirt the edge of the room to get to the exit.

  Nick shoots me a look that says I’m being ridiculous, and I glare at him. We’ve been shot at twice in the last couple days. His father’s in the hospital because of it. I will be on edge and on guard until whoever is fucking with us is either dead or behind bars.

  It’s kind of shocking to realize I’d prefer dead. Dead people can’t escape from prison or bribe police into dropping charges.

  The beeping from the door lock is fainter than the footsteps were, but I can still hear it. The lock releases, and the door swings open. Because the server we’re next to is off to the right of the entrance, whoever just entered isn’t visible.

  We don’t have to wait long. Constantine stops at the end of the aisle, both eyebrows shooting to his hairline. “Hey. Something wrong with the server?”

  “Files moved around, a few of them were deleted. Nothing important.”

  I clench my jaw at Nick’s casual explanation. They damn well are important. If the other missing files are the ones on that list, I’m left with nothing but Constantine’s odd behavior. Even I have to admit it’s not enough.

  Nick jerks a thumb at the monitor. “I know Peter mentioned wanting to clean it up. Did you assign that to Loren?”

  Constantine frowns. “No. Why?”

  “Cory’s password was used to log into the server.”

  Either Constantine’s an Oscar-worthy actor, or he’s genuinely shocked by the statement. I watch him closely. Deep frown lines, lips parted, a flash of hurt in his eyes. Did he like Cory? Was that a move Isaiah made that Constantine didn’t approve of?

  He recovers and waves a hand at the terminal. “Can I…?” Nick hops aside, and I fold my arms over my chest, looking at Constantine rather than the screen.

  He’s good. He is good. So good doubts trickle in. His expression grows harder and harder as he scrolls through the log. It could be someone else. Peter. Or maybe there was someone in Isaiah’s crew we missed.

  “Loren has no reason to go in and delete files. As far as I know, he wasn’t around when Peter brought it up.” There’s a soft crack as he slides the keyboard into its slot. “What’s missing?”

  Nick swings around Constantine and heads for the door. “Not sure. That server became disorganized to the point I don’t remember everything that was on it. Regardless, whoever was in here deleting the files is gone.”

  “Ought to run a virus check on all the servers. Just to be safe.” Constantine passes Nick and holds the door open for him to get through. I trail after the two of them, uncertain what my role is. Constantine does have a point. After the earlier virus scare, they can’t afford to slack off now.

  “Good idea.” Nick’s voice floats through the door, and I hear his crutches thunking in the hallway.

  I stifle a sigh. Guess I know where I’m spending the night.

  * * * *

  “You all right?” Denise pauses with her hands half in the box. The bookshelf behind her is only a quarter full. By the time all the boxes are unpacked, I suspect it will still have plenty of room. After all, Nick doesn’t have anything to put on them.

  I twist my head back and forth, and a small whimper escapes. “Yeah. Slept wrong.” The couch in Nick’s office isn’t nearly as comfortable as it looks. I woke up with a stiff neck, and my mood’s been shitty as a result.

  That’s not entirely true. Nick’s continued refusal to agree that we should be taking a closer look at Constantine’s actions has driven a wedge between us, and it’s getting bigger and harder the longer we don’t talk about it.

  Neese returns her attention to the box. “Where’s Nick staying?”

  “He’s at his parents’ house for the time being.” The security system Nick ordered for the apartment was installed the same day his computer equipment arrived. Once it was in place, there was no need for us to remain at my parents’. The adjustment to living alone has been…interesting.

  She huffs out a breath and sets a stack of books on the shelf. “What’s all the computer stuff in the other room for?”

  “It’s Nick’s.” I shouldn’t have let Nick help me put away the groceries. I can’t find half the stuff I swear I ordered. I empty the cupboard onto the counter below. “He’s using it like a second office.”

  She arches her back. “Ow.” She stands and stretches her arms over her head, then wanders to the kitchen. “Weird. And he’s not living here?”

  “No.” The cereal is supposed to all go together. Simple logic. I line up the boxes by height, ignoring her snickers.

  She has accused me in the past of being anal retentive about the kitchen.

  But her question pokes at me, and as I continue to put the food back in the cabinet in the proper order, it gets louder and louder until I have to address it in order to get it to shut up. “He might move in eventually. I don’t know. Before my dad died, we were talking about it like it was a given.”

  She opens the cupboard above her head, rummages through it, and pulls out random items. A bag of flour. A tiny bottle of vanilla. A bottle of red wine I don’t remember ordering. “Do you think this break might end up being permanent?” she asks.

  I motion for her to switch places with me, and she flips me off before stepping away from the counter. “I don’t really know. When it first came up, I figured that’s all it would be. A step back.” The heightened tension between us coupled with our mutually agreed upon desire to slow down has brought all my doubts rushing to the forefront. “Now… I have no idea where I’ll be once I graduate. I don’t even know how much longer I’ll be at UCLA. Can I finish up during summer term? Or am I going to have to finish next fall? It’s not like Nick can just pick up and move, either. His businesses are here, along with his family.” Despite everything that’s happened over
the last couple of months, I doubt Nick’s considered leaving the family business behind. And I can’t ask him to. He’s comfortable with his role, and I think he wants to take over for his father someday.

  “I take it you haven’t spoken with him about any of this.”

  “No,” I admit. In my defense, we’ve been trying to stay alive. Discussing the future of our relationship isn’t a priority. “There hasn’t been a good time. He’s got a project launching soon, and there’s some family problems he’s been dealing with too.”

  Denise holds up a hand. “Whoa. Family problems? Is he okay?”

  “I think so.” A bald-faced lie. He’s nowhere near dealing with the issues plaguing his family. “Anyway, I thought maybe we could, you know, let things settle a bit before we break open the huge relationship discussion that we kinda sorta shoulda had a while ago.” I shut the cabinet as my stomach rumbles. “You hungry?”

  She grins. “I spotted an Indian place a block away. Feeling adventurous?”

  The last time we ate at an unknown Indian restaurant, we both ended up with food poisoning. “Um…”

  She grabs my wrist and pulls me to the door. “No ‘ums.’ We’re trying it.”

  Fifteen minutes later, we’re seated at a small table with plastic-covered menus in front of us. The place doesn’t look sketchy. “Hole in the wall” would be a more appropriate description. The room is narrow, barely wide enough for the two-seater tables and an aisle. A long counter wraps around the open kitchen. From where I’m sitting, I have a clear view of the chef, and it’s kind of fascinating to watch him work. Flames leap from the burners. He moves with the grace and precision of a dancer, from counter to stove and back again. There are several skillets and pots on the burners, and he somehow manages to keep them all in check without looking frazzled.

  “I think this may be my new favorite place,” Denise declares.

  “You haven’t tried the food yet.”

  “Don’t need to. That dude is awesome.” She jerks her head toward the chef.

  We turn our attention to the menus, and a server stops at our table to take our orders. Once he’s gone, she leans her elbows on the table and studies me. “Are you sure you’re all right? Because you don’t look like it.”