The Encounter

I always choose the corner table at Café Vérité, tucked away under the dim glow of an overhead lamp—it's perfect for privacy. With my laptop open and a sea of code flowing across the screen, I drown out the chatter and clinking cups around me. This is my domain: numbers, patterns, the thrill of a challenge. I'm so engrossed in cracking an encrypted file that I barely notice him until he's almost beside me.

"Miss Black," he says—a statement, not a question.

I glance up, meeting the gaze of a man whose appearance screams money—from his meticulously tailored suit to the understated luxury of his watch. I don't recognize him, but his cold smile tells me he knows exactly who I am.

Without waiting for an invitation, he sits down, sliding an envelope across the table toward me. His movements are smooth, deliberate. "You'll want to see what's inside," he murmurs, his voice a blend of a threat and a promise.

Suspicion tightens my chest. I don't like surprises, not in my line of work. I'm about to tell him to take his envelope and leave, but curiosity—and a prickle of fear—stops me. Instead, I open it, my fingers brushing against several sheets of paper.

Photos spill out—pictures of me, snapshots of my past exploits that were supposed to be untraceable. Alongside them, a detailed record of my activities, my hacks, enough to put me away for a very long time. My throat tightens as I look up at him, my calm façade barely holding.

"The people I represent are very interested in your skills, Miss Black. They have a job for you. A job that you can't refuse," he continues, his eyes locked on mine, reading my reaction.

I close the envelope, pushing it back slightly. "And if I say no?"

His smile widens, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "You seem like a smart woman. I don't think you'll make that mistake."

The café suddenly feels too small, the air thick and heavy. I take a deep breath, trying to keep my composure. This man, whoever he is, has me cornered. With my secrets laid bare in front of him, I realize this isn't just about a job—it's about survival.

He stands, his message clear. "You'll find the details of the job inside. There's a car waiting for you outside. It will take you to a more secure location where we can discuss this further."

I watch him leave, the weight of the envelope in my hands feeling like a chain. I've spent my life avoiding being pinned down, being controlled. Yet, here I am, considering diving deeper into the shadows than ever before.

The café resumes its usual rhythm, oblivious to the life-changing decision in front of me. I think of all the nights spent hunched over my laptop, the risks I've taken for a shot at freedom from my past. That freedom is now slipping through my fingers.

Glancing at the envelope, I make up my mind. I've always been good at playing the long game, and if playing along with these people gets me closer to clearing my name or gaining leverage, then so be it.

I gather my things, my resolve hardening with each step. The cool evening air hits my face as I walk out, the city's sounds a backdrop to the racing thoughts in my head. I step into the waiting black car, the door closing with a soft thud—a sound that feels ominously like a cell door closing.

As the car pulls away, blending into the traffic, I open the envelope again, studying the faces of the men I need to infiltrate. The Billionaire Brotherhood. They have no idea what's coming for them. Neither do I, really. But one thing's for sure—I'm not going down without a fight.