Page 49 of Duty Compromised
Ty
Charlotte was silent next to me on the way to Vertex, her fingers drumming on her thighs like she was still typing on a keyboard. Understandable. Between the calculations constantly running in her head, worrying about how much trouble she was in with Alex, and not knowing who we could trust of her colleagues, it was pretty fucking overwhelming.
“When we get there,” I said, breaking the silence as we turned onto the road leading to the building, “remember what we discussed. Keep it simple.”
Her fingers stilled. “About the accident.”
“Right. No mention of it being deliberate. No talk about someone trying to steal your work. Far as anyone knows, it was just bad luck at the intersection. We don’t want to tip our hand that we suspect some sort of traitor.”
She stared out the window, jaw tight. “I still can’t wrap my head around it being someone from the lab.”
“I know.” I kept my voice steady, matter-of-fact. “But we can’t rule it out. The fewer details we share, the better.”
“It feels wrong, lying to them.”
“It’s not lying. It’s operational security.” I pulled into the parking lot, finding a spot near the entrance—always park for a quick exit. “Besides, whoever’s involved might not even know they’re being used. Could be someone’s accessing their credentials, using their knowledge without them realizing it.”
She nodded slowly, but I could see the conflict in her eyes. Charlotte wasn’t built for deception. Her whole life was about finding truth in data, solving problems with logic and precision. Now I was asking her to navigate a world of half-truths and hidden threats.
“Hey.” I turned off the engine and faced her. “Just focus on your work. Let me worry about the rest.”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to do.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.
We walked through the lobby in silence, past the security desk where a younger guard—not Raymond, thankfully—waved us through with an actual smile. The elevator doors closed with a soft hiss, and I watched Charlotte’s reflection in the polished surface. Her shoulders were rigid with tension, hands gripping her bag like it might disappear if she loosened her hold.
The elevator seemed to take forever, each floor counting up with deliberate slowness. When the doors finally opened on the third floor, voices erupted immediately.
“Charlotte! Oh my God, we heard about the accident!”
“Are you okay? Someone said you were in the hospital?—”
“—heard your car was totaled?—”
Half the lab had converged on us before we’d made it three steps inside. Darcy pushed through the crowd, her face tight with concern.
“Let me see you.” She grabbed Charlotte’s shoulders, examining her like a worried mother checking for damage. “When Alex told us about the accident this morning, I nearly drove to your house. You should have called me.”
“I’m fine,” Charlotte said, clearly overwhelmed by the attention. “Really, it looked worse than it was.”
More people pressed in, questions flying from every direction. I stayed close but not too close, watching faces, cataloging reactions. Marcus looked genuinely worried. Linda kept wringing her hands. Several others I didn’t recognize by name all wore expressions of authentic concern.
Or really good masks.
“Perhaps we could give Dr. Gifford some breathing room?” The voice cut through the chaos like a blade.
Raymond Wilmington stood near the security station, arms crossed, face set in his perpetual scowl. But today, there was something else in his expression—actual anger.
“You left the premises with company property,” he said, pushing through the group toward Charlotte. “The countermeasure drive was supposed to remain in the secure lab. You had no authorization?—”
“Raymond.” Alex Richards appeared from his office, his tone carrying the kind of authority that made everyone take a step back. “The important thing is Charlotte’s safe and the drive is back where it belongs.”
“Protocol exists for a reason. She could have?—”
“She could have died,” Alex interrupted, his usually mild demeanor sharpening. “I think we can forgive a breach of protocol under the circumstances.”
Raymond’s jaw worked like he was chewing glass. “This is exactly the kind of careless?—”
“Hey, Wilmington,” I cut in, unable to resist. “Shouldn’t you be painting miniatures or something? I heard the new Warhammer stuff just dropped.”
