Page 7 of Web of Lies
Hunt Corp. is officially a high-end private security firm. However, behind the scenes, it is one of the most powerful and well-connected organizations in the criminal underworld. They carry out contract killings, track high-value suspects, eliminate witnesses, collect debts, and handle cleanup jobs that no one else will touch.
In all of this, my job is to keep all digital systems running smoothly. I oversee the company's cybersecurity, manage surveillance, delete security footage, monitor law enforcement chatter, and ensure our data is untraceable. If something goes wrong, it's my responsibility to eliminate any evidence that anything ever happened and to keep the company and all employees safe. Yet here I am, falling for the oldest scare tactic in the book. Admittedly, though, it helps ease the nagging paranoia in the back of my mind.
With a deep sigh, I close the chat, open the browser, and type "New York Butcher" into the search bar. Within seconds, a list of news articles appears on my screen. It's been about a year since I last looked into or showed interest in the case of the Butcher. But it's time for me to get it together, make some progress, and find what Jackson sent me to.
I sort the articles by date and scroll down the list, looking for a headline or a preview showing any useful clues. As expected, though, there is no mention of who the Butcher might be. All the information in those articles relates to the butcher shops and the arrests of the owners and employees caught selling the meat.
The idea of cannibalism always seemed far-fetched to me until I learned about the Butcher from Jackson. While murder and the organ trade are everyday occurrences in the underworld, the consumption of human meat has always felt like something out of fiction. Still, the number of anonymous consumers is higherthan I expected. But so is everything else considered illegal in a city like New York. Crime thrives in a place full of countless criminal organizations. In such a crowded environment, it’s easy to blend in or quietly disappear among the dozens of faces on the busy streets.
I pull up the latest news article about a recent raid on a Bay Area butcher shop known for selling exotic meats, including kangaroo and crocodile. Although they did not find any human meat, they found human blood that was not connected to the butcher or his employees. Another operation busted. However, it's the same as all the cases before: there is not a single trace leading to the person who supplied the meat or to any potential clients who might have purchased it.
Another sigh slips from my lips as I slump back in my chair, close my eyes, and raise my hands to massage my temples. I have no idea where to keep looking. I've already searched through the Hunt Corp. database several times, hoping for an update, but there's no information at all about the Butcher. I've also dug through the dark web, retail and service platforms, and even a site for those interested in romantic cannibalism. I was holding onto the tiniest hope that the Butcher would be there, but he's not. It's as if everyone talks about him, but no one actually knows him, and he’s just a made-up story to scare the public.
The sudden ping and thunderous vibration of my phone startle me, pulling me out of my thoughts and making me jolt upright. I reach for it, and the screen lights up with a message from Evelyn: my best friend and former colleague.
Evelyn: Hey! Noah sent you all the documents for Mr. Hunt. If he needs more, he should call him.
Me: Thanks! I'll let him know!
I put my phone down, roll my office chair closer to the table, and access my business email account. There, I find the message with the encrypted folder that Evelyn's fiancé sent me. I quickly run it through my program, enter the password, and have it cleared and organized while I skim through each page the software spits out. Then, I hit print and grab an empty folder from a drawer. Once all the pages have been printed, I put them in the file, and, as with every piece of information that Noah provides to Mr. Hunt, I delete the digital document as soon as I have it in paper form.
Evelyn's fiancé is the infamous Dove Killer. He used to be an independent hitman and the number one killer in New York. No one except his clients knew his identity. He preferred to work by himself, and if anyone tried to interfere with him or go against him, that person knew their days were numbered.
To the Underworld, the Dove Killer disappeared two years ago. Everyone assumed he had either retired or finally been killed. Which actually almost happened last year. But the truth is more complicated. He owes his life to Hunt, who, in return for his silence and protection, demands information about his former clients. Within the company, only Mr. Hunt and I know the truth, and it needs to stay that way. If word ever got out that the Dove Killer is alive and Hunt knows where he is hiding, it would set off a chain reaction.
I turn off my computer, then get up from my chair and leave my office, heading toward the private elevator that leads to the boss's office at the top of the building. I scan my tag, step inside, and watch the numbers climb with each passing floor. With a soft jingle, the elevator arrives at the requested floor, and the doors open with a quiet hiss, revealing the spacious, sterile waiting area. I step out and walk straight toward the large office doors.
"Riley, wait." The gentle voice of the boss's secretary stops me in my tracks, and I turn to face her. Hannah is sitting at her desk. In one smooth motion, she pushes her wheelchair back and moves around the table.
A smile spreads across my face as my gaze falls on her. She has her blonde hair tied in a high ponytail, and her loose bangs frame her soft features while she wears a simple yet classy light blue summer dress. If I didn't know what she was capable of, she would fit the image of a picture-perfect secretary to a T. And, in Hunt Corp.’s case, she definitely fits the bill, given her firearm skills.
"What is it?" I ask, walking up to her desk.
"The boss has a visitor. Give him a few minutes, please."
"How much longer do you think it's going to take? I've got some information he was dying to get his hands on."
"I have no idea; he's with a young woman. They came back together after lunch, and he didn't introduce her." Her lips purse into a pout.
"A woman?" I ask in a slightly raised voice, not hiding my surprise.
"Yes. She is really pretty. Maybe he is finally moving on after his divorce."
"I hope so. It's been what, two years?"
"I know," she huffs. "This whole divorce was a mess. I'm glad he left the witch; maybe he can finally find some happiness in his life."
"He deserves it," I say with a smile.
At the sound of the office doors opening, we abandon our conversation and look toward the noise. Mr. Hunt steps out of his office dressed in his signature navy blue suit, his hair slicked back, and his scruff perfectly trimmed. A petite woman clings to his arm, her pale skin glowing under the bright lights. Her shiny black hair falls in soft curls over her shoulders, framingher gentle features. She's wearing a sleek, form-fitting black dress with a sheer neckline that dips low, revealing her cleavage. With her delicate features, red lips, and almost fairy-tale-like appearance, she reminds me of Snow White.
"Thanks for the information," Mr. Hunt says. With a bright smile, the woman spins on her black heels to face him.
"With pleasure," she says, placing her hands flat on his chest and stepping closer than what would be considered professional.
"Tell your father that I need to talk with him when he gets back to New York." Mr. Hunt places his hands on hers and gently nudges her back. The woman's smile fades, and she sighs.
"I'll let the old man know."
