The phone felt like a block of ice in my hand. The glowing screen seemed to burn a hole in the dim light of the hotel room. I wonder what Lacroix would think of this? The words were a serpent coiling in my gut, cold and venomous. This wasn’t just about Nexus Tech anymore. This was personal. This was a threat that could unravel everything.

My first instinct was to call Charles. To rage, to demand answers, to let him handle it. But I stopped myself, my thumb hovering over his contact. That would be a mistake. It would be admitting weakness, confirming that I was in over my head. It would be proving the blackmailer right. I was on my own.

I deleted the message, but the image of that photo, of us standing so close, was seared into my memory. Someone had been watching us in Paris. Not just watching, but photographing. This wasn’t a random opportunist. This was someone who knew who I was, who knew who Charles was, and who had the resources to connect the dots. Lacroix. It had to be. He was the only one with a motive to undermine Charles, to weaken him before their deal went through.

I closed my laptop, the proposal for Nexus Tech forgotten. The plan didn’t matter now. The factory didn’t matter. All that mattered was the threat hanging over my head. I had to find out who sent the message.

I spent the rest of the night in a haze of caffeine and paranoia. I scoured every social media platform, every news article, every financial report connected to Lacroix Industries, looking for a clue, a link, anything. I came up empty. It was a ghost. The message had come from a burner phone, untraceable. I was hunting a phantom.

By morning, I was a wreck. My eyes were gritty, my shirt was wrinkled, and my nerves were frayed to the point of snapping. I looked like the desperate man I was. Which was exactly what I needed to be.

I walked into the Nexus Tech factory just as the morning shift was starting. The silence was gone, replaced by the low hum of machinery and the murmur of voices. But the atmosphere was different. The workers weren’t just staring at me anymore. They were watching me, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and pity. Word had gotten out. They knew I was their last, best hope. They also knew I was likely to fail.

I ignored them and went straight to Anja’s office. She was already at her desk, a cup of black coffee in her hand, her expression as severe as ever.

"We need to talk," I said, closing the door behind me.

"I assumed as much," she said, taking a sip of her coffee. "Your... proposal. It has generated some discussion."

"I’m sure it has," I said, leaning against her desk. "But that’s not what I’m here about. I need to know everything you know about Lacroix Industries."

Anja’s eyes narrowed. "The French conglomerate? What do they have to do with anything?"

"I think they’re trying to sabotage this plant," I said, keeping my voice low. "I think they have someone on the inside."

She stared at me for a long moment, her mind clearly working. "That’s a serious accusation, Herr Hart."

"So is blackmail," I said.

The word hung in the air between us. Anja’s face didn’t change, but I saw a flicker of something in her eyes. Fear. Or maybe recognition.

"Blackmail?" she repeated, her voice barely a whisper.

"Someone sent me a message last night," I said. "A threat. They implied they knew things about my relationship with Charles Damien. Things that could damage both of us. They mentioned Lacroix by name."

Anja stood up and walked to the window, looking out at the factory floor. "And you think they have someone here? Feeding them information?"

"It’s the only thing that makes sense," I said. "Someone here knew I was coming. Someone here knew I was meeting with Charles in Paris. Someone here is loyal to Lacroix."

She turned back to me, her expression hard. "We have had... dealings with Lacroix in the past. Before Damien Corp bought us. They made an offer. A hostile one. It was... ugly."

"Who was here then?" I asked. "Who was involved in those negotiations?"

"The same people who are here now," she said. "Klaus. Dieter. Myself."

"Then one of them is a traitor," I said.

"Or you’re lying," she countered. "Or you’re paranoid. Or you’re trying to create a scapegoat for when your plan fails."

"All of those are possibilities," I admitted. "But I don’t think so. I think someone on this management team is working for Lacroix. And I need you to help me find them."

She looked at me, her eyes searching my face. She was weighing her options, trying to decide if I was a madman or a messiah. Finally, she nodded, a slow, deliberate gesture.

"I will help you," she said. "But not for you. I’m doing this for the three hundred people who work in this factory. If there is a snake in our nest, we will find it. And we will crush it."

The next few days were a tense, paranoid dance. We worked on the Nexus Tech proposal during the day, presenting a united front to the board and to the few remaining corporate liaisons. But at night, Anja and I would meet in her office, going over old emails, financial records, and personnel files, looking for anything suspicious.

We found nothing. It was as if the blackmailer had vanished. But I knew he was still out there, watching, waiting. And I knew he was close.

It took four days before something finally broke. I was in Dieter’s lab, watching him work on the battery prototype. He was still bitter, still cynical, but he was working. He had a spark of hope now, and it was a beautiful thing to see.

"I need to access the old server archives," I said, trying to sound casual. "The ones from before the Damien Corp acquisition."

Dieter didn’t even look up. "They’re in the basement. Room B-7. But the system is down. Has been for years. You’ll need the master key to get in."

"The master key?" I asked.

"Klaus has it," he said. "He’s the only one who still goes down there. Says he likes to check on the old equipment. Make sure it’s not being scrapped."

My blood ran cold. Klaus. The blustering, cynical production manager. He was the one who had been feeding information to Lacroix. He was the traitor. 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝚠𝚎𝚋𝗻𝗼𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝚘𝐦

I didn’t confront him. Not yet. I needed proof. That night, I went to Anja.

"Klaus has the master key to the old server room," I said. "He’s been lying to us. The system isn’t down. He’s been accessing it."

Anja’s face went pale. "Are you sure?"

"Dieter confirmed it," I said. "We need to get into that room. Tonight."

We waited until midnight, the factory a dark, silent hulk around us. The basement was a labyrinth of forgotten machinery and dust-covered shelves. Room B-7 was at the end of a long, dark corridor, the door locked with a heavy padlock.

Anja had a key. A spare she had "forgotten" to turn in when she was promoted. It took her three tries to get the lock open. The door swung open, revealing a small room filled with racks of servers, all of them dark and silent. Except for one.

A single server was humming, its lights blinking in the darkness. There was a chair in front of it, and a keyboard. And on the screen, visible even from the doorway, was an open email account. The last sent message was to an address at Lacroix Industries. The subject line read: The Berlin Project is a go.

I stepped forward, my heart pounding in my chest. I was about to look at the message, to get the proof I needed, when I heard a sound behind me. A soft click.

I turned around. Anja was standing by the door, a gun in her hand. And it was pointed directly at my chest.

"I’m sorry, Eric," she said, her voice cold and steady. "I can’t let you see that."