Chapter 9 - The Digital Trap
The satellite phone glowed with a harsh green luminescence in the dark tunnel as he tapped out a sequence of encrypted commands, routing the signal through three different offshore proxy servers to avoid tracking. Across the city, in a high-rise glass monolith that pierced the stormy clouds, Dean slammed his fist onto his mahogany desk, shattering a crystal glass of bourbon. His security chief stood rigidly before him, trembling slightly under the billionaire’s murderous glare. ""You let a barefoot girl and a rogue ex-soldier walk out of an upscale restaurant with the primary archive?"" Dean hissed, his voice dangerously low. ""Find them. Tear the city apart. If that envelope goes public, our entire operation goes up in smoke."" Back in the subway tunnel, the satellite screen beeped softly, displaying a successful data ping. He smirked, watching the tracking logs. ""He’s taking the bait,"" he muttered to Clara, showing her the screen. ""By flooding his corporate network with corrupted checksums of the files we took, we've forced his internal security team to lock down all external communications. He’s blind, and he’s panicking."" Clara leaned closer, the warmth of his shoulder pressing against hers, providing a stark contrast to the cold concrete around them. ""What’s our next move?"" she asked, her eyes reflecting the green screen light. ""We don't hide anymore,"" he replied, standing up and tucking the satellite phone into his tactical vest. ""We go to the one place Dean thinks is completely secure: his private mainland server room.""
