𝗔𝗰𝗾𝘂𝗮𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗲𝘀

Twenty.

Three hours of relentless pursuit led Marco to a revelation that sent a chill down his spine. Data crumbs, like a digital breadcrumb trail, suggested a connection he hadn't anticipated—the FBI.

His eyes widened in disbelief.

FUCK!

Frantically, Marco's mind raced through the options. He couldn't let this breach jeopardize everything his family had built, not just digitally but in the tangible world too. Swiftly, he yanked out the hard drives connected to his system, the physical embodiment of his digital life.

The fear of repercussions gnawed at him as he clutched the hard drives in his hands. Panic set in, and Marco surveyed his office frantically for a way to dispose of the damning evidence. He couldn't leave the office; too many people would see him, ask questions. His eyes fell on the trash bin—the solution to his immediate dilemma.

With a calculated urgency, Marco tossed the hard drives into the bin, along with a bit of leftover whiskey from a glass nearby. The amber liquid acted as an accelerant, heightening the flames that now licked at the digital remnants of Marco's life. In that small, controlled fire, he hoped to erase any traces of the breach without triggering the dreaded sprinkler system.

In the confined space, a crucible for his secrets, Marco chose to wait, watching the flames engage in a silent ceremony of destruction. The weight of his actions sank in as he observed, contemplating the tangible remnants of his digital life being consumed by the fire. Each flicker of the flames mirrored the turmoil within his mind, a poignant effort to salvage his world from the encroaching shadows.

Shit, what about dad? Should he know? No, he'd be even more upset—god knows what would happen, what he would do...

Why is the FBI targeting me now? Was it Frank? Shit, did I forget to turn off geo-tagging? No...I'm certain I covered everything. As Marco's mind raced through these concerns, a sudden realization struck.

Wait, what time is it?

Marco's eyes darted to his phone; he flipped it over, the screen still displaying the message thread with Rebecca. He hesitated for a moment, rereading his last text to her—it was cold. Did she deserve that? Should he apologize to her?

Maybe she's in on it?

Maybe not?

In the shadows of suspicion, Marco found himself questioning everything. His heart pounded in sync with the chaos around him as he checked the time. Nearly midnight. Hesitation gnawed at him, but the need to mend what he had recklessly torn apart propelled him forward. With a deep breath, Marco dialed Rebecca's number.

The continued ringing of the phone echoed through the room, creating a rhythmic pulse that mirrored Marco's internal struggle.

Wait—why the hell did I call her?  She's probably asleep. Shit, I could've texted.

Just as he was about to end the call, the abrupt cessation of the ringing caught him off guard. Rebecca's voice, a comforting lifeline, pulled him from the edge of uncertainty.

"Hey...," he began, his tone carrying the weight of remorse.

A smile played on his lips as Rebecca pointed out, "I take it you weren't expecting me to answer."

"Yeah, my bad, it's late," he chuckled, the sound blending with the night's symphony. "Lost track of time, planned to text instead, but you beat me to it." Internalizing the moment, Marco hesitated, thoughts racing as he mustered the courage to apologize. "Look, I just wanted to say sorry for my texts earlier. Stressful moment, and honestly, all clues pointed toward y—"

Her quick reassurance surprised him, "I would've done the same. The apology is a nice touch, though. It's been a while since I've been on the receiving end of one."

A sigh of relief washed over him, the tension in his shoulders gradually releasing. Seeking further clarity, he inquired, "Oh, you're not upset?"

"Why would I be? You got hacked after I left. It's a perfectly normal reaction," she reassured. "I would have thought it was me, too. Plus, I'm used to being a scapegoat lately."

Rebecca's understanding eased his worries, and Marco felt a silent gratitude for her patience. Her voice, a blend of curiosity and concern, cut through the lingering echoes of their conversation. "Did you find out who did it?"

Marco hesitated, his thoughts racing as he weighed the decision of how much to disclose. The revelation about the hack being linked to the Feds was already a lot to process, and he pondered whether sharing more details would be beneficial or add unnecessary complexity.

"Well, not exactly," he finally responded, his tone cautious. As his gaze drifted towards the ashes of computer parts and the remnants of twisted metal in a makeshift trash bin, he continued, "It's still a work in progress. Once I get my new system up and running tomorrow I'm planning to dig deeper."

"Maybe I can help expedite the process?" she offered, her voice holding a note of sincerity. "I can shake up the grapevine a bit and see if there's anything," she added.

"I appreciate the gesture, I really do," Marco finally spoke, his voice holding a trace of skepticism. "But it's a common situation, very straightforward; nothing I can't handle," he said, masking his true feelings with a subtle lie.

"I'm not asking. I owe you for the Everclear rounds this evening, remember?" Rebecca responded with determination. "I'll see what I can gather by morning—you down for a quick rendezvous bruch?"

As the seconds ticked away, Marco found himself grappling with the desire for connection and the lingering shadows of suspicion.

"Fine," he conceded with caution.

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