Karras, the private investigator, was a patient man, but his patience had limits. He made his move not on Marcus, but on the perceived weak point: Chloe. He cornered her at the end of a long, exhausting day, just as she was turning the sign on the door to 'Closed.' He was smooth, professional, and intimidating. He flashed a badge that looked convincingly official but belonged to no actual government agency. "Ms. Reed, I need a moment of your time. I'm looking into some financial irregularities concerning a charitable grant. The 'Heron Foundation.'"
Chloe paled, wiping her hands on her apron. "What? That's impossible. It paid my father's hospital bills." "Exactly," Karras said smoothly, his voice low and confidential. "Large, untraceable sums often do. It's a classic vehicle. The source is shadowy, to say the least. My investigation suggests someone close to you, someone with the requisite technical skills and a hidden motive, might be involved." He let the implication hang. "This 'Marcus Wright.' His background is… murky. Digital ghost. Before you get in any deeper, personally or emotionally, you might want to seriously consider who you're really trusting." He left a plain business card on the counter and slipped out into the twilight, leaving behind a chilling silence and a mind now teeming with terrifying doubts.
She confronted Marcus that night in her apartment, her voice trembling with a volatile mix of confusion, fear, and dawning betrayal. "A man came. A detective, or something. Asking questions. About the grant. About you. He said your background didn't check out, that you were a 'digital ghost.' Marcus, what is going on? Who are you?" This was the moment he had dreaded, the precipice. He took her cold hands in his, looking directly into her frightened, searching eyes. "Chloe, listen to me. That man doesn't work for any government agency. He works for Derek Vance. I did some digging after Vance started showing up. His company has a long, documented history of this—using intimidation, hiring PIs to dig up dirt or plant doubts, sabotaging deals to force a sale. He wants you scared, vulnerable, and alone so you'll have no choice but to accept his buyout." He took a breath, weaving the lie with threads of painful truth. "My past is… complicated. I left a bad situation, a corporate tech job that asked me to do things I couldn't ethically stomach. I burned bridges. I wanted a clean start, a quiet life. That's why my history is sparse. That's all this is." He poured every ounce of his genuine feeling for her into his gaze, willing her to believe the man, not the story. She searched his face for a long, agonizing minute, the war between her heart and her sharp mind playing out in her eyes. Finally, the trust, though cracked, held. She nodded slowly, leaning into him for a hug. "Okay," she whispered into his chest. "Okay." But the word was fragile, and the seed of doubt had been sown. It now had roots.