Page 27 of The Cousins and the Brunette

I sat alone in the study, the weight of my suspicions anchoring me to the leather chair behind the mahogany desk. The room was dim, save for the focused light from the antique brass desk lamp that cast an amber glow on the wood’s deep grain. My fingers drummed a staccato rhythm on the desktop, echoing slightly off the walls lined with bookcases filled with volumes on strategy and history. The décor spoke of old-world charm—a stark contrast to the blinking monitors and humming machines that served as the nerve center of my operations. Advanced security tech littered the space: screens streaming live footage from every corner of the mansion and interfaces awaiting commands.

“Something’s not right…” I muttered to myself, my eyes narrowing.

I replayed our interactions with Elizabeth—or rather, the woman who claimed to be her. My gut twisted. My instincts told me that there was more to this girl than we first thought. With a clench of my jaw, I resolved to peel back the layers of “Elizabeth Shoemaker” until I found the truth hidden beneath.

No one made a fool out of Joel Porter.

I know just who would help me, a tech specialist and hacker buddy of mine. I called him up on my cell phone and it rang a few times before he answered.

“Samuel,” I said into the secure line, “I need your expertise, buddy.”

“Joel! How’s it hanging? Long time no talk to you.” I heard Samuel’s voice crackling with static before stabilizing. A shared interest in uncovering deceit had bonded us over the years, and today was no different.

“Shoemaker’s records. I want them cracked open. Now. You in?”

“Consider it done,” he said, the sound of his fingers already tapping across his keyboard.

We synced our computer screens, and I watched as lines of code cascaded like a waterfall on my monitor—Samuel’s handiwork in real-time. His skills were unmatched, each keystroke slicing through firewalls like they were made of air. Together, we sifted through layers of encrypted data, the tension winding tighter within me with each passing second.

“Stop there,” I commanded when an email thread snagged my attention. “Zoom in.”

The emails we uncovered sent a pulse of adrenaline surging through me. It was an exchange between Shoemaker and an unidentified contact, discussing payment, discretion, and a decoy. A damn decoy. One that would take the place of his daughter. Shoemaker, that asshole, had heard about our plans to kidnap his daughter as ransom for the tech he had kept from us.

Sebastian, Braxton, and I had always been at the top, our influence as Elites cemented by our success in selling military technology. But now, we were fixated on the Nant-bots, revolutionary tech that could propel our business even further. Chad Shoemaker, that snake, had promised them to us, but he backed out, lured by a higher bid from some rival. The betrayal cut deep, and our anger had pushed us to the edge. Desperate to secure the deal, we threatened to kidnap Shoemaker’s daughter, a drastic measure to force his hand. And Shoemaker had known all along, but how?

“What the fuck?” The expletive burst from my lips before I could temper it, my usual blunt force breaking through.

The betrayal stung sharply, a bitter tang on my tongue. This wasn’t just about business now—it was personal. Shoemaker had played us for fools, but the bastard didn’t know who he was dealing with. No, I thought grimly, he was about to find out.

Fury coursed through my veins, a white-hot river of rage that threatened to consume me. I wanted to punch something, preferably Shoemaker’s smug face. But I couldn’t afford to lose control, not now.

I was still reeling from the revelation when Samuel, my hacker friend who was more skilled at navigating this digital landscape than anyone I knew, called out to me. “Joel, take a look at this.”

The screen showed images, candid shots, and posed family portraits from Chad Shoemaker’s cloud storage. There she was—Elizabeth. The woman in the photos had a certain softness around her blue eyes, short hair, a birthmark just below her left ear, a softness to her that the woman downstairs lacked. The woman in the basement was athletic, her green gaze sharper, her skin unblemished where that distinctive mark should have been, and she had hair down to her ass.

My stomach twisted into a knot of frustration and disbelief. How could we have been so blind? I prided myself on my attention to detail, on being the guy who never missed a trick. Yet here we were, duped by some cheap imitation. The realization stung worse than any physical blow.

“Height’s off too…” I pointed out with clinical detachment. “Look at this family reunion photo—she’s towering over her cousins. Our guest downstairs is no Amazon and has much longer hair, darker too.”

Shit. Elizabeth Shoemaker was not sitting in our basement cell. We had an imposter, a damn fake decoy, and we were back at square one.

The bitter taste of failure filled my mouth. I’d let my family down, let myself down. This wasn’t just a setback; it was a full-blown disaster. And the worst part? I had no idea how to fix it…yet.

How dare he outmaneuver us like this? The urge to lash out was almost overwhelming, but I forced it down.

“Thanks, Sam. I owe you one,” I said, my voice heavy with a frustration I didn’t bother hiding.

“Anytime, Joel. You know where to find me if you need more research done.”

“Will do.” I ended the call abruptly, my hands fisting.

I wanted to throw the phone across the room. Instead, I gripped it tighter, reminding myself that breaking things wouldn’t solve our problem. But damn, it would feel good for a moment.

“Sebastian! Braxton!” I barked into the intercom, summoning my cousins to my office.

Within moments they were there, Sebastian with his thoughtful frown, and Braxton strolling over to a leather chair facing my desk and plopping down.

“What’s up?” Sebastian asked, his calm demeanor so different from the tempest of emotions within me.

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