Chapter 18 - SEVEN DAYS
The dead-man switch became the clock over everything.
Seven days.
Maybe real.
Maybe bluff.
We could not assume either.
Colin had died from an apparent overdose in a motel room.
No clear evidence of foul play.
But his laptop had been wiped.
His cloud accounts deleted.
His note unmistakably written in his own hand.
MELINE HAS SEVEN DAYS.
Seven days until what?
We searched every system.
Marcus’s team worked around the clock.
Federal cyber units joined.
No obvious timer appeared.
Then Sydney remembered Jason talking about “Sunday cleanup.”
The seventh day was Sunday.
At midnight.
We had a deadline.
Jason refused to help.
His attorney claimed he knew nothing.
Then Jason requested to see me.
Everyone advised against it.
I went.
He sat behind thick glass.
No tuxedo now.
No charming smile.
No performance of remorse.
“You look tired.”
“You look incarcerated.”
He laughed.
There was the man underneath.
“You want the switch.”
“Yes.”
“What do I get?”
“Nothing from me.”
“Then why come?”
“To look at your face when I tell you we’re going to find it.”
His smile thinned.
“You always thought you were smarter than everyone.”
“No.”
“I thought I could trust people.”
“That was dumber.”
Maybe.
But I was learning.
Jason leaned closer.
“My father built this before you knew what a firewall was.”
“Your father is dead.”
His expression changed.
Only slightly.
He cared.
Interesting.
“Your father also lied to you your entire life.”
“Everyone did.”
“True.”
I stood to leave.
Jason tapped the glass.
“Ask Marcus about Terminal Nine.”
I stopped.
“What?”
“Terminal Nine.”
“Why?”
He smiled.
“Seven days.”
I left.
Marcus had never heard of it.
Then he remembered an internal label.
During CipherStone’s earliest years, we had colocated servers in a data center.
Terminal Nine was the nickname for an old management console.
Decommissioned four years ago.
Or supposedly.
Records showed one backup appliance still active.
Forgotten.
Legacy.
Exactly the kind of system attackers loved.
We isolated it.
Inside was a hidden process.
A timer.
Six days.
Fourteen hours.
Jason had used old infrastructure we no longer monitored closely.
The process was designed to release encrypted archives to dozens of public endpoints.
We stopped the timer.
Or thought we did.
Three hours later, another timer activated.
This one in a cloud tenant.
Six days.
Eleven hours.
Then another.
Six days.
Ten hours.
Hydra.
Cut one head.
Another appeared.
Jason had planted multiple triggers.
Maybe through Colin.
Maybe others.
We needed the root command.
Sydney volunteered information.
Jason had a phrase.
Whenever he talked about insurance, he called it “the rehearsal.”
Our wedding rehearsal.
I searched old photos.
Videos.
Messages.
Then I remembered Jason insisting we create a shared wedding website.
He managed the domain.
Marcus checked.
Hidden subdomain.
rehearsal.
Inside was encrypted code.
We found the control panel.
Password protected.
Sydney knew the likely password.
Their affair anniversary.
It failed.
Her birthday.
Failed.
Jason’s birthday.
Failed.
Then Terrence spoke from the doorway.
“Try Meline’s birthday.”
We did.
Access granted.
The room went silent.
Of course.
Jason had built his crimes around me.
My name.
My credit.
My company.
My wedding.
My birthday.
We disabled thirteen active triggers.
Then Marcus counted.
“There should be fourteen.”
“How do you know?”
“The command structure references fourteen nodes.”
“One is missing.”
“Yes.”
We searched until dawn.
Nothing.
At 6:17 a.m., a small cybersecurity blog published a confidential vulnerability report belonging to one CipherStone client.
One file.
Proof.
The fourteenth trigger was active.
The countdown was not just a threat.
It was already leaking one document at a time.
And each day we failed, something worse would be released.
Day One.
A vulnerability report.
Day Two could be anything.
Then the anonymous number that had belonged to Catherine sent one final message.
Jason didn’t build Node Fourteen.
Stephen did.
May you like
And Stephen hid it where Evelyn hid everything.
INSIDE THE FAMILY.
