Page 80 of Web of Lies
"If that's what you want, sure." He nods. "Whatever you need, just tell me."
"Space." My gaze shifts to his big dining table. "Do you mind if I set up here?"
"Not at all," he says, giving a small shrug. "Feel free."
In less than thirty minutes, Kyle's clean dining table turns into a messy battlefield. Wires run across the surface, tools are scattered around, and random parts are spread out like the aftermath of a minor explosion. My two laptops sit side by side, their screens glowing. On one, I set up a secure connection. On the second, the files we stole from Mr. Hunt are being sorted into different categories and crawl through a loading bar, stuck at the last stubborn five percent.
I know the truth about Kyle, that he's the Butcher, so this may be a waste of time, but something in my gut won't let this go. Something tells me Hunt is hiding something in these files. Not just about Kyle, but maybe about Jackson, too.
"What are you doing?" Kyle asks, leaning over me from behind as he sets a fresh cup of coffee down on the table. The rich, bitter aroma wafts through the air, and my heart skips a beat at the thought of that first sip.
"I'm digging into the last of the data we stole from Hunt," I say, eyes glued to the screen.
"Why?" he asks, and my gaze shifts from the screen to Kyle, who looks at me with a cocked brow. "You know I'm the Butcher now."
"I'm hoping to find something else."
"Something else?"
"Yes," I sigh, frustration bubbling in my chest. "I can't shake this feeling, Kyle. Hunt's too connected, too careful. He's hiding more than he lets on, and maybe he knows something about Jackson."
"That one day you'd be questioning your beloved Hunt. I should mark my calendar," Kyle says with a low chuckle, clearly enjoying himself. Heat rises to my cheeks, and I quickly turn my gaze back to the screen, refusing to give him the satisfaction ofseeing me flustered. My jaw tightens as I click through other files with a little more force than necessary.
"Wouldn't that mean he also knows about your real identity?" Kyle asks.
"Not necessarily. Officially, I'm still not part of Jackson's team. I haven't proven myself to them yet."
"I hope you're right." Kyle frowns and pulls out the chair next to me, settling onto it.
I grab the coffee cup; the steam warming my face. I take a small sip, the bitter heat rolling over my tongue, and it eases my nerves.
"I'm sure," I say, setting the cup down with a soft clink. "If Hunt knew, I'm convinced he would've thrown it in my face by now." A sigh slips out as I turn back to the laptop screen. The loading bar finally hits 100%, then jumps to a new window.
"Oh my God, Kyle—I'm in." The words burst out of me, and in my rush, the chair screeches against the floor as I push back and almost spill the coffee, but catch it in time.
My fingers fly across the keyboard, my mind already buzzing with where to start. Instinct tells me to go straight for Kyle's name. I type it into the search bar, hit enter, and within seconds, file after file floods the screen.
My stomach twists. Photos and a string of coded reports, all pointing to the fact that Kyle is the Butcher. My pulse throbs in my ears as I scroll through the mountain of evidence. Every trust I ever had in Hunt crumbles. He knew. He's always known.
"So, he knew all along." The words tumble from my lips, and I turn to face Kyle. "Did you know?"
"Yes." His gaze meets mine without flinching. "While I didn't do business with him, my dad and Hunt are close. He knew about my dad's business and that I'd be taking over one day."
I hum, my attention shifting back to the screen. My fingers tremble as I erase Kyle's name and type in Jackson Philips. Thesearch loads, and then—there it is. My chest tightens as files cascade across the screen, each one darker than the last. Fraud. Money laundering. There's even an old case tying him to a murder as an accomplice.
"Jesus Christ," I whisper, scrolling through line after line of information. I knew Jackson was a criminal himself, but this is even more information than I could collect on him before I was sent on my test. One document stands out, stamped with a bold red label: Top Secret. My cursor hovers over it before I double-click.
The file opens with a report outlining ties between Jackson and city officials. My eyes dart over the names—the mayor, the district attorney, a handful of high-level law enforcement. Everyone who in any way, shape, or form supports his department.
Kyle lets out a low whistle beside me, leaning back in his chair. "Damn. Hunt really doesn't do things halfway, does he?"
I swallow hard, my gaze still fixed on the screen. "Yeah," I murmur. "He doesn't miss a thing." A sharp pang of fear jolts through my chest. If he cataloged Kyle and Jackson in such detail, what if he had me in there, too?
Before I can second-guess myself, my fingers dance over the keys, typing my name into the search bar. The results pop up right away. My chest tightens and my heart hammers as I brace for the worst. But as the first file opens, my breath stutters. It's bare. Only the essentials. It's the version of my history that I created for Hunt to find when I joined the company five years ago. There's no mention of Jackson. It shows only my family tree, school history, and the hacking jobs I did before I was caught.
Kyle's arm slides around my shoulders, pulling me against him. The warmth of his touch steadies the chaos in my mind."He doesn't know," I whisper, more to myself than him. "Hunt knows nothing."
I tilt my face toward him, relief softening my features. "I was so sure he'd pieced it together if he knew about Jackson." My voice trails off, my mind spinning with a series of what-ifs.
