Chapter 8

Ezra parked his car at the office garage and walked south to Filters Square. He took his coffee from the breakfast truck parked at the curb with a quiet nod. The lid was loose, and every time he pushed one spot down, another popped up.

There was an early warmth in the air, with filtered sunlight peeking through the branches. A pair of toddlers shrieked nearby, running around, weaving between some trees. Their mothers stood off to the side, leaned against a fence, bouncing between talking to each other and scrolling their phones. At the far end of the park, a man in a tan windbreaker read a folded newspaper.

Everything moved at a pace that wasn't his, and Ezra barely looked twice at a world that didn't stop spinning.

He spotted Arlo on a bench beneath an aging sycamore. In his hands was an identical cardboard cup, blue with white designs meant to evoke ancient Athens. His shoulders were curled forward over his rotund body, head slightly down. He looked as if he was waiting for a verdict.

Ezra felt as nervous as Arlo looked. He slowed his pace, took a long breath through his nose, and gave himself an attempt at a pep talk.

"Calloway," Arlo said as Ezra approached. He scooted to the side, giving himself a little more distance.

Ezra nodded and mouthed an inexact greeting.

"So, uh," Arlo began, eyes still forward, "what made you decide to reach out?"

Ezra took a sip before answering. "I think they're watching me at work."

"What makes you say that?"

"There's a pattern in some of the claims, these car dealerships. They're all represented by the same law firm, and every time I open a file, I swear my webcam turns on."

"What was the firm?"

"Maximus? Something close to that. Can't remember exactly."

"You're in claims, right?"

"Yeah. But they just promoted me."

Arlo let out a little chuckle. "That's surprising."

"Why's that?"

"Well," Arlo said, giving the cup a slow quarter-turn spin in his hands, "Alright, so, I had my PI look around a little after we met."

"And?"

"And I know your wife worked as an arson investigator."

Ezra's gaze dropped.

He could feel the heat, tiny pinpricks on his skin, evaporating his sweat as soon as it came out of him. Dry, scratchy moans drowned out by the roar.

"I… I don't understand."

Arlo turned slightly toward him now. "You mean to tell me you never asked yourself if she might have been using you for information?"

"What are you doing?" he asked, turning the corner from the kitchen into the dining room.

"Oh, just clearing the table for dinner," she replied, slipping her hand out from inside Ezra's satchel.

Ezra shook his head slowly, unsure whether he hadn't or merely hadn't wanted to.

"There's just no..."

"Ezra," Arlo said gently. "My guy says she was working on something big. He couldn't find out what, but everyone knew it was something."

Neither of them spoke for a moment. The air held the laughter of children, the flapping of pigeon's wings, and the constant din of a city in motion.

"I gotta get going," Arlo said, pushing himself up with a soft grunt. "Find out the name of that firm. See what else you can get me."

Ezra nodded again. He went to say something else, but Arlo was already halfway down the path.

He lit a cigarette, sipped on the now luke warm coffee, and tried to remember the sound of her voice.

Eventually, he stood and started walking.

As he went to toss his cup in the trash, his eyes caught a scrap of paper. It was small and torn, but on it were printed in the same type,

Wrong question

Ezra didn't touch it. Just looked at it once, long enough to let the words settle, and then moved on.

The walk back to the office felt longer than the one to the park. Not by much, but enough for Ezra to notice. The city had filled in a little since sunrise—more cars, more dogs, more chatter bleeding from open storefronts. It made the silence in his own head feel sharper.

Someone passed him in the lobby—slim, well-dressed, no one he recognised. The man gave him a slight nod as they moved in opposite directions. Ezra returned it, a beat late, unsure if it was for him.

Thirteen was quiet when he stepped off. His desk undisturbed. Two new entries waited in the queue.

One was flagged for continuation: Vic Sage Motors. That was the same one he'd already seen marked for internal review. It didn't make sense. Files under review weren't supposed to move forward.

He clicked it open.

The webcam light blinked.

His heart picked up speed—could've been the coffee, could've been something else. He wasn't sure which.

The summary was unchanged. Same payout. Same language. Same law firm: Maxwell Impera LLP.

But this time, there was something new. Tucked in the upper corner of the document window was a button: View Source File

That hadn't been there before.

Ezra moved the mouse toward it, but stopped short.

His palm was damp against the plastic. The cursor hovered.

He didn't know what would happen if he tried to open the file.

A knock at the door gave Ezra a slight jolt. He quickly clicked out of the case and turned his attention upward.

The man who entered was in his late twenties, maybe. Hoodie half zipped over a polo, company badge clipped to his jeans. He gave a short wave and stepped inside without waiting, rolling a small cart behind him. A new monitor sat on the lower shelf, still in the box.

"Morning. Got a ticket about a faulty webcam?"

Ezra nodded. He could feel the cursor hovering just beneath the surface of the screen.

"Yeah," he said. "Something weird with the light."

The tech reached onto the cart and grabbed a soft, zippered pouch, and set it on the desk beside Ezra's keyboard.

"Been a couple of those lately," he said, kneeling to check the ports at the back of the tower. "Usually just loose cabling."

"Right."

The explanation didn't make sense—webcams were integrated—but Ezra played along.

The young man pulled a small device out of the pouch and checked each port with deliberate movements.

"You get the light while the camera's off?"

"Only when I open certain files," Ezra said.

The young man paused. Not long. But long enough.

Ezra could tell he was starting to understand why someone had sent him up here. They both did their best to not let on, leaving nothing but an awkward silence in the air.

The tech stood, pulled the keyboard a little closer, and started pulling up system windows. He typed in a series of commands that Ezra didn't recognise.

When he finished, he gave the cable one final check, then stood upright.

"Should be good now. Let me know if it blinks again."

He didn't wait for Ezra to respond. Just picked up the pouch, gave a quick nod, and rolled the cart back out.

Ezra waited for the sound of footsteps to disappear, then turned his attention back to the screen.

He reopened the case, the View Source File button was still there.

Ezra clicked it.

A loading bar appeared. No delay. Just a quiet flicker as the screen filled with raw entries—timestamps, names, claim codes. No headers. No structure. Just data stacked in a way he'd never read before.

Near the bottom, a name he recognized: Calloway, Ezra – Referral

He stared at it. Long enough for the monitor's brightness to dim slightly, having grown tired of waiting.

His forefinger continued sliding along the mouse's wheel. Whatever this was, it was running on a scale far beyond him.

The pit in his stomach shifted to hunger. He looked up at the clock, time for lunch.