Page 68 of How to Play the Player
“Do you mind if I check something?” he asks, already pulling the laptop closer to him.
“Be my guest,” I reply, sipping my latte.
I watch as he navigates through several screens, his fingers flying across the keyboard with practiced precision. Task manager. Performance monitor. System configuration. Places I wouldn’t think to look.
“How long has this laptop been acting up?” he asks, his voice slightly distant as he continues to assess whatever he’s seeing.
“A little over three years,” I answer. “Got progressively worse. I’ve had tech support look at it several times, but nothing they did fixed it for long.”
He nods, continuing his analysis. “And this started…?”
“After Bethany and I decided to split.” I pause; an older memory pops into my mind. “Actually, no. It started before that. Right around the time of the NorthStar leak, now that I think about it.”
Nathan’s hands freeze over the keyboard. His expression sharpens, and he looks up at me with a strange intensity. “Quinn, how did you set up this laptop?”
“I didn’t.”
“Then who did?”
“Bethany did. She handled all our tech stuff, including this computer.”
“Is that laptop for work use or personal?”
“Both.”
“And she had full access to it? Administrative rights?”
The question seems off, but I nod. “Sure. We were partners, I trusted her with everything back then.”
He leans back in his chair, a muscle ticking in his jaw. His gaze shifts back to my laptop, then to me, anger behind his eyes.
“What?” I ask, suddenly uneasy. “What did you find?”
Nathan checks his watch. “I’d like to discuss this, but not here.” He turns the laptop so the screen faces away from the door. “Let’s grab some fresh air.”
His tone is deliberately casual, but there’s an undertone that raises goose bumps on my arms. He tilts his head toward my old laptop’s camera, his message clear without being spoken.
Could someone be listening? Watching?
My blood runs cold. I follow his lead, keeping my voice steady as I respond. “Sure, I could use a coffee refill anyway.”
Once we’re in the stairwell with the door firmly closed behind us, his casual demeanor drops instantly.
“I think your computer has been compromised,” he says in a low voice. “If I’m right, someone could be listening to every conversation in your office.”
“What?” I stare at him in disbelief. “How is that possible?”
“Spyware,” he confirms. “Not the basic kind either. This is sophisticated stuff—military grade. It’s designed to run deep in your system where standard diagnostics would never catch it. That’s why none of those ‘fixes’ worked.”
My mind spins, trying to process what he’s saying. “You mean like a virus?”
“Much worse. This type of software can activate your microphone, your webcam, track your keystrokes, access your files—all without you knowing.”
I’m so stunned, I don’t know what to say.
Nathan must see that, because then he continues. “I’ve seen similar patterns before when our security team ran penetration tests. It shows up as a system lag, sudden crashes, battery drain—exactly what you’ve been experiencing. But it’s programmed to disguise itself when diagnostics are running, which is why tech support never found it.”
“You’re saying someone’s been watching me?” My stomach turns. “How long?”
