The knowledge Evelyn had extracted from the technician was a double-edged sword. It was a key—useless as long as it remained on the wrong side of a locked door. Her gilded leash was real, her physical confinement absolute. She could possess all the theoretical knowledge in the world, but without hands on the ground, without physical access to the diagnostic port on her door, she was powerless.
Her attempt to cultivate Sofia had been deftly severed by Damien. It was a lesson learned. She didn't just need a sympathetic ear; she needed a specific skillset and a specific level of access. She needed an inside man.
Her thoughts returned, with calculated precision, to Mark Cross, the young technician. He was nervous, eager to please, and possessed a professional pride that bordered on vanity—a potent combination of traits she could exploit. He had the access and the knowledge she lacked. The new mission became clear, shifting from a technical problem to a human one: she had to recruit Mark.
First, she needed a plausible pretext to summon him again. Another issue with the door lock would be too suspicious. It had to be a different system. Her eyes settled on the sleek, integrated smart-home panel that controlled the suite's lighting, temperature, and media. A new plan began to form.
Using the heavily restricted internet, she began her research. She couldn't access technical forums, but she could read the online user manuals and marketing materials for high-end residential automation systems similar to what Blackwood would use. She learned about their operational limits, their common glitches. Then, she began her attack.
From her tablet, she issued a rapid, conflicting series of commands to the environmental controls. Lights on, lights off, temperature up, temperature down, shades up, shades down. She created a command loop, overloading the suite's local processor. After a few minutes, the system began to break down. The lights in the main room started to flicker erratically, pulsing like a failing fluorescent bulb. The temperature reading froze.
She placed the call. Her tone to Ms. Jennings was not that of a damsel in distress, but of a deeply annoyed homeowner.
"Ms. Jennings, the entire environmental system in my suite is malfunctioning. The lights are flickering so badly it's giving me a migraine," she said, her voice sharp with impatience. "Could you please send someone from the technical team immediately? And I'd prefer the young man who helped with my lock, Mark. He seemed very competent."
The specific request was a deliberate, calculated move. It would appear to Ms. Jennings and Damien as the whim of a creature of habit, but it ensured she got her target.
When Mark arrived, he looked even more nervous than before, as if he'd been questioned about their last interaction. This was good. It meant he was already off-balance.
Evelyn's demeanor was entirely different this time. She wasn't helpless; she was a client with a problem. "Thank you for coming, Mark. As you can see," she said, gesturing to a flickering lamp, "it's a mess."
As he opened the smart-home panel and began running diagnostics, she started her careful reconnaissance, not of a system, but of a man. She began with praise to build a rapport.
"You're very skilled," she commented, watching his hands move across his diagnostic tablet. "Blackwood Enterprises is lucky to have someone who truly understands these complex systems."
He flushed slightly. "Thank you, ma'am."
"This must be interesting work," she continued, her tone conversational. "But do you ever get to work on the bigger projects? The core enterprise servers? Or do they keep the top guys on that?"
He hesitated, his eyes still on his screen. "I'd love to work on the enterprise systems, but that requires a higher security clearance. For now, it's mostly residential and office support." A note of frustration, faint but clear, entered his voice.
Hook one: Ambition.
"I imagine the pressure is immense," she sympathized. "Mr. Blackwood demands perfection in everything."
Mark let out a small, bitter laugh. "You have no idea."
Hook two: Dissatisfaction.
She let a thoughtful silence hang in the air before her final probe. "It's a good career, I'm sure. But in a city like Denver… it must be hard to really get ahead. I was at a gallery the other day, and a small painting cost more than most people make in a year. The disparity is… staggering."
He glanced up from his work, his face a mask of weary agreement. "Tell me about it. You don't get rich fixing smart-lights, that's for sure."
Hook three: Financial need.
She had what she needed. As he finished his work, resetting the overloaded processor, she didn't make an overt offer. It was far too soon. Instead, she would plant a seed.
"Well, Mark," she said, her voice dropping to a more conspiratorial tone. "Talent like yours shouldn't be overlooked. In my experience, ambitious people who can solve difficult problems… they tend to find opportunities that others don't see. I have a feeling you're one of them."
She walked to her dresser and retrieved a small, thick envelope from a drawer—containing a significant portion of the cash from the handbag sale. She pressed it into his hand.
"For the headache," she said, her eyes meeting his. "I appreciate both competence and discretion."
Mark stared at the cash, then at her, his expression a mixture of shock, confusion, and intrigue. The amount was far beyond a simple tip. It was a statement.
"I… thank you, Ms. Hayes."
"I'm sure I'll be seeing you again, Mark," she said, a promise in her voice.
He left in a daze, the heavy weight of the cash in his pocket and her cryptic words echoing in his mind. Evelyn watched him go, a sense of calculated calm settling over her. She had successfully placed the hook. The recruitment was a slow, dangerous process, and he could report her at any moment. But for the first time since the gilded leash had tightened, she had forged the beginnings of a new key.