Chapter 2 - Someone Inside the Tower Was Watching Us
The electronic lock clicked.
Grant reacted first.
He drew a pistol.
I stared at it.
“That's going to be incredibly useful against a door.”
His eyes cut toward me.
Matteo almost smiled.
“Can you open it?”
“Probably.”
“Probably?”
“People who say definitely around electricity eventually become statistics.”
I knelt beside the access panel.
No power loss.
Someone had deliberately isolated the security room.
The monitors were dead because their feeds had been redirected, not because the building had failed.
That was worse.
Matteo stood behind me.
“You're not nervous.”
“I’m extremely nervous.”
“You don't look nervous.”
“That's because I'm busy.”
I removed the faceplate.
Two wires had been switched remotely through a relay.
Expensive system.
Sophisticated.
Whoever controlled it knew we were inside.
I bypassed the strike.
The door released.
Grant pushed through first.
Empty hallway.
No attacker.
No fleeing technician.
Just an abandoned service cart.
Matteo looked at his security chief.
“Who can control this floor?”
“Seven people.”
“Bring me their names.”
Grant left.
I returned to the schematics.
The hidden system bothered me.
Not simply because it existed.
Because it was elegant.
Whoever designed it understood how electricians thought.
They avoided standard inspection zones.
Used legitimate grounding paths.
Ran surveillance cable beside fire-alarm shielding where nobody would question extra conduit.
“This wasn't amateur work.”
Matteo stood beside the window.
“Meaning?”
“Whoever did this either had access to your original construction documents or helped build the tower.”
“The tower opened eight years ago.”
“Then start eight years ago.”
He studied me.
“You always give orders in other people's buildings?”
“Only when they're badly wired.”
That almost-smile again.
Dangerous men should not be attractive.
It complicated basic judgment.
I ignored it.
Grant returned with names.
Operations director: Victor Dane.
Chief engineer: Paul Mendoza.
Security chief: Grant himself.
Building automation manager.
Two senior technicians.
And Celeste Warren.
I looked up.
“Why Celeste?”
“She has master operational access during events.”
Of course she did.
Matteo saw my expression.
“You suspect her?”
“I suspect anybody who tried to throw me out thirty seconds before hidden cameras were found.”
Grant nodded.
“Reasonable.”
Matteo looked at him.
“You're agreeing with her very quickly.”
“I prefer not to be on the suspect list.”
“You already are.”
Grant's face remained expressionless.
Interesting workplace.
We spent the next two hours finding devices.
Thirty-seven total.
Twenty-one cameras.
Nine microphones.
Five signal repeaters.
Two data-storage modules.
Some were old.
Others had been installed within months.
One camera faced Matteo’s private conference table.
Another pointed directly at the keypad outside his personal elevator.
“This is blackmail,” I said.
Matteo looked at the camera.
“Or intelligence.”
“Same family.”
Grant recovered partial logs.
Encrypted.
But timestamps showed heavy data transfers during meetings with judges, business owners, union representatives and politicians.
Someone had spent years collecting secrets from people who believed they were inside one of the safest buildings in Boston.
“What happens if this becomes public?” I asked.
Grant answered.
“Panic.”
“That's already happening downstairs.”
“No.”
His tone sharpened.
“Real panic.”
Matteo explained.
“Some people attending tonight would rather admit to crimes than admit what they discussed inside this building.”
I stared.
“That's reassuring.”
“It wasn't intended to be.”
Near dawn, guests were finally allowed to leave after security recorded identities and collected statements.
I packed my tools.
Matteo approached.
“You're staying.”
“That sounded like a command again.”
“A professional request.”
“Better.”
“I need you tomorrow.”
“I have another job.”
“Cancel it.”
“No.”
His eyebrows rose.
“Nobody tells me no this often.”
“Then your life has been dangerously sheltered.”
He looked at me for several seconds.
Then offered an amount that made me stop breathing.
“You're joking.”
“No.”
“For one day?”
“For your discretion and expertise.”
“My discretion isn't for sale.”
His expression hardened slightly.
“Everything is.”
“No.”
I zipped my tool bag.
“Competence costs money. Silence is different.”
Something changed in his eyes.
Respect, perhaps.
Or curiosity.
“Fine.”
He doubled the consulting rate but removed the secrecy clause.
I accepted.
I wish I could say it was because I wanted justice.
It was partly because I had three months of business debt and a van that made a grinding noise every time I turned left.
Morality was easier with stable cash flow.
I reached the parking garage shortly after sunrise.
My work van sat near the exit.
Something looked wrong.
The rear door.
Slightly open.
I stopped.
Called Grant.
He arrived with two men.
Inside, every toolbox had been emptied.
Wires cut.
Meters smashed.
But nothing expensive had been stolen.
“They weren't robbing you,” Grant said.
“No.”
A piece of paper rested on my driver's seat.
One sentence.
YOU SHOULD HAVE LEFT WHEN CELESTE TOLD YOU TO.
Matteo arrived ten minutes later.
He read the note.
His expression became terrifyingly calm.
“You're coming with me.”
“No.”
“Erin.”
“My home isn't your building.”
“Exactly.”
He took one step closer.
“Whoever did this knows your vehicle, schedule and involvement.”
“I can protect myself.”
“I don't doubt it.”
His voice lowered.
“But you found something they spent years hiding.”
I looked at my ruined tools.
Then at the note.
“Where are you suggesting I go?”
“My house.”
I laughed.
His face remained serious.
“You cannot be serious.”
“I have security.”
“You had thirty-seven hidden recording devices in your tower.”
That landed.
Grant looked away, perhaps to hide amusement.
Matteo sighed.
“A different property.”
“No.”
“Hotel?”
“No.”
“Federal protection?”
“Definitely no.”
His eyes narrowed.
“Why?”
“Because I don't know who's behind this.”
That answer surprised him.
“Good,” he said.
“What?”
“You're learning.”
I hated the approval in his voice.
Eventually we compromised.
I stayed at an empty corporate apartment under another name, with security outside and no cameras inside unless I installed them myself.
At 8:00 a.m., I finally sat on the bed.
I should have slept.
Instead, I kept thinking about the note.
You should have left when Celeste told you to.
Whoever wrote it wanted me to suspect Celeste.
Too obvious.
Which meant either Celeste was stupid—
or somebody wanted her blamed.
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered cautiously.
“Hello?”
Silence.
Then a distorted voice said:
“Ask Matteo what happened to the electrician who wired Reichi Tower before you.”
The call ended.
I stared at the phone.
When Matteo arrived an hour later, I showed him.
For the first time since meeting him, his composure cracked.
Not much.
But enough.
“Who was he?” I asked.
Matteo said nothing.
“Matteo.”
He looked toward the window.
“Her name was Anna Blake.”
My blood stopped moving.
Blake.
“My mother’s name was Anna Blake.”
“I know.”
May you like
And suddenly I understood.
This wasn't the first time my family had touched the wiring inside his empire.
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