Chapter 2 - The Man Who Noticed Everything
Phoebe lasted four days before trying to quit.
The reason was a blue mug.
She moved it six inches.
That was all.
Soren walked into the conference room, reached toward the place where the mug should have been, stopped his hand in empty air, and said, “Miss Strand.”
Phoebe looked up from the tablet.
“Yes?”
“What happened?”
“To what?”
“My coffee.”
“It’s beside your right hand.”
“It was beside my left.”
“You found it.”
“That isn’t the point.”
“You’re angry because I moved coffee?”
“I’m angry because I told you not to relocate objects without telling me.”
She put down the tablet.
“You are unbelievable.”
“I’ve been told.”
“Three times today by me.”
“Then the data is becoming reliable.”
Phoebe stared at him.
He almost smiled.
That made it worse.
But the argument taught her something.
Soren didn’t fear blindness.
He hated unpredictability.
Every room had a map in his mind.
Every chair, doorway, glass wall, table edge, step, and handle had a position.
When someone moved an object, they didn’t merely inconvenience him.
They altered the geography.
After that, Phoebe stopped moving the mugs.
She also stopped assuming.
During the first week, she watched him chair a fourteen-person meeting without once asking who had spoken.
He identified executives by voice, breathing patterns, even the soft click of one vice president’s pen.
He remembered numbers after hearing them once.
When an analyst claimed a manufacturing delay had affected “roughly two percent” of shipments, Soren asked, “Two point one or two point eight?”
The analyst hesitated.
“Two point seven.”
“Then say two point seven.”
Later, in the elevator, Phoebe said, “You enjoy terrifying them.”
“It improves precision.”
“You could try kindness.”
“I hired you for that department.”
“I’m not qualified.”
“That much is becoming clear.”
Their conversations became a strange ritual.
Conflict disguised as entertainment.
Entertainment disguised as defense.
Phoebe still resented the circumstances that brought her there, but the more she worked beside him, the harder it became to fit Soren into the villain role she had prepared.
One afternoon, she read a set of quarterly logistics reports aloud.
He stopped her halfway through page six.
“Go back.”
“To what?”
“Vendor code 7184.”
She scrolled.
“North Harbor Medical Supply.”
“Shipment volume?”
“Up eighteen percent.”
“Declared demand?”
Phoebe checked another column.
“Up four.”
Soren leaned back.
“Interesting.”
“What?”
“Nothing yet.”
“People who say ‘nothing yet’ usually mean something terrible.”
He ignored that.
“Read the destination facilities.”
She did.
Chicago.
Cleveland.
Milwaukee.
Research Annex C.
Phoebe stopped.
Soren heard the silence.
“You saw it.”
“That facility is closed.”
“Officially.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“What does unofficially mean?”
“It means part of the property remains active for document storage.”
“Then why are surgical components being shipped there?”
“Excellent question.”
“You already knew.”
“I suspected.”
“And Derek?”
“Signed two of the authorizations.”
Phoebe’s stomach tightened.
“He told me he signed what they put in front of him.”
“That may be true.”
“You don’t believe him.”
“I believe people are usually more complicated than the worst thing they’ve done.”
It was the first generous thing she had heard Soren say about Derek.
She looked at him differently.
He felt it.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You inhaled.”
“People inhale.”
“You inhale like that when you’re surprised.”
“You cannot possibly know that.”
“Six days.”
“What?”
“I’ve had six days to listen to you.”
Phoebe shook her head.
“Creepy.”
“Efficient.”
But that afternoon, for the first time, she understood why the board feared him.
Not because he was cruel.
Because very little escaped him.
Two days later, Derek called.
“Can you talk?”
Phoebe stepped into an unused office.
“Five minutes.”
“How is he?”
“Who?”
“Alcott.”
“Difficult.”
“Meaning?”
“Imagine a tax audit learned sarcasm.”
Derek laughed.
The sound relieved her more than she expected.
Then he became serious.
“Has he asked about me?”
“Yes.”
“What did you tell him?”
“That you make terrible choices with impressive consistency.”
“Phoebe.”
“What?”
“I didn’t know what those shipments were.”
“I believe you.”
Silence.
“You do?”
“Don’t make me regret it.”
“I won’t.”
“You’ve said that before.”
“I know.”
There was something broken in his answer.
Phoebe softened.
“What are you not telling me?”
Derek hesitated.
Then he said, “A week before they arrested me, somebody broke into my apartment.”
“What?”
“I thought it was random.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because nothing was stolen.”
“Derek.”
“I know.”
“What did they touch?”
“My desk. Papers. Laptop.”
“Was the access card there?”
“What access card?”
Phoebe’s pulse changed.
She didn’t answer.
“Phoebe?”
“Did you ever have a security card from Annex C?”
“No.”
“Think.”
“I never worked there.”
“Did anyone give you one?”
“No.”
“Did you find one?”
Long silence.
Then Derek whispered, “Oh God.”
Phoebe stood straighter.
“What?”
“A guy from maintenance dropped an envelope on my desk months ago.”
“What guy?”
“I don’t remember his name. Older. Red beard.”
“What was in the envelope?”
“I never opened it.”
“Where did it go?”
“I put it in my locker because I thought it belonged to someone else.”
Phoebe closed her eyes.
That was how the card got there.
“Did he say anything?”
“Just—”
Derek stopped.
“Just what?”
“He said, ‘If anything happens, make sure the right person sees this.’”
Phoebe felt cold.
“Why didn’t you tell anyone?”
“Because the next day he stopped coming to work.”
“What was his name?”
“I’m trying to remember.”
“Derek.”
“Wait.”
She heard papers moving.
Then breathing.
Then: “Evan.”
“Last name?”
“Maddox. Evan Maddox.”
Phoebe wrote it down.
“Do not call anyone else.”
“What’s happening?”
“I don’t know.”
That was a lie.
Something was happening.
And Soren had known before she did.
That evening, she confronted him.
“Evan Maddox.”
Soren stopped walking.
Wade, two steps behind him, became very still.
Phoebe noticed.
“That name means something.”
Soren’s jaw shifted.
“Where did you hear it?”
“Derek.”
“Explain.”
She did.
When she finished, Soren walked to the window.
“Evan Maddox was a safety engineer.”
“At Annex C?”
“Yes.”
“He disappeared?”
“No.”
Phoebe waited.
Soren’s voice became quieter.
“He died three weeks after my accident.”
She stared at him.
“How?”
“Car crash.”
“That’s convenient.”
“Extremely.”
Wade spoke for the first time.
“The police ruled it accidental.”
“And you?”
“I stopped believing in coincidences eighteen months ago.”
Phoebe looked from Wade to Soren.
“You both knew.”
“We knew Maddox had concerns about Annex C,” Soren said. “We didn’t know he contacted Derek.”
“Why would he?”
“Maybe he needed someone outside the research division.”
“Or someone nobody important would notice.”
Soren’s face hardened.
“That too.”
Phoebe crossed her arms.
“So you brought me here because you thought Derek had evidence.”
“I brought you here because I needed to know what he remembered.”
“You could have asked him.”
“He was terrified.”
“And you thought using me would make him less terrified?”
“No. I thought he would tell you things he would never tell my lawyers.”
The honesty was infuriating.
“You manipulated me.”
“Yes.”
“At least pretend to be ashamed.”
“I would be lying.”
She turned toward the elevator.
“Then I’m done.”
“Phoebe.”
She stopped.
It was the first time he had used her first name.
Not Miss Strand.
Phoebe.
She looked back.
Soren stood beside the windows, the Chicago skyline behind him.
“I’m sorry.”
She stared.
He continued.
“I should have told you sooner.”
She searched his face for sarcasm.
There was none.
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because everyone I trusted eighteen months ago had access to Annex C.”
That answer landed differently.
“You think someone close to you did this.”
“I know someone did.”
“And you don’t know who.”
“Not yet.”
Phoebe looked at Wade.
“Do you trust him?”
Wade raised one eyebrow.
Soren answered.
“With my life.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
A faint tension passed through the room.
Soren tilted his head.
“No,” he said.
Wade did not react.
Phoebe’s skin prickled.
“You don’t trust your head of security?”
“I trust Wade to be Wade.”
“That is not comforting.”
“It’s not meant to be.”
She should have left.
Instead, she stayed.
Maybe because of Derek.
Maybe because Evan Maddox had died trying to move a piece of evidence.
Maybe because Soren’s apology had sounded like something he rarely gave.
Or maybe because, for the first time, she saw that beneath his arrogance was something she recognized.
Isolation.
That night, long after most of Alcott Tower had gone dark, Phoebe searched old safety reports.
She was not supposed to.
She knew that.
She also knew Soren would discover it eventually.
She found Evan Maddox’s name buried in a maintenance archive.
Three reports.
The first concerned a faulty ventilation sensor.
The second referenced unauthorized access to chemical storage.
The third was marked CLOSED.
Phoebe opened it.
Most of the page was routine language.
Then one sentence stopped her.
MANUAL OVERRIDE ACTIVATED 19 MINUTES BEFORE INCIDENT.
Phoebe leaned closer.
Below it:
AUTHORIZATION SOURCE: EXECUTIVE LEVEL.
Her heart began pounding.
She downloaded the file.
A sound came from the doorway.
“You’re terrible at secret investigations.”
Phoebe spun around.
Soren stood there with his cane.
“How long have you been there?”
“Long enough.”
She covered the screen.
“Don’t.”
He walked closer.
“Read it.”
“No.”
“Phoebe.”
She looked at him.
Something in his voice had changed.
Not command.
Fear.
Very controlled fear.
She turned back to the screen and read the line aloud.
When she finished, Soren went completely silent.
“Did you know?” she asked.
“No.”
“The override came from executive authorization.”
“Yes.”
“How many people had that level?”
“Seven.”
Phoebe swallowed.
“Who?”
Soren began naming them.
Chief operating officer.
Chief financial officer.
Research director.
General counsel.
Security chief.
Founder.
Board chair.
Phoebe looked toward him.
“One of those people is you.”
“Yes.”
“And one is Wade.”
“Yes.”
She turned back to the screen.
Then she noticed something else.
A tiny notation beneath the authorization code.
She magnified it.
The initials appeared.
W.M.
Phoebe stopped breathing.
Behind her, Soren said quietly, “What?”
She didn’t answer.
“Phoebe.”
Her mouth went dry.
She looked at him.
“The authorization code is tagged with initials.”
“Whose?”
Phoebe glanced toward the dark hallway where Wade Mercer had disappeared an hour earlier.
Then back at Soren.
“Wade’s.”
May you like
And for the first time since entering Alcott Tower, Soren Alcott looked genuinely surprised.
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