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"First off," Daniel began, his pen flying across a whiteboard, "we need to make sure Clint is kept in the dark. He needs to believe Courtney is in Maine. I wonder why he was calling from San Jose, though, but maybe that doesn't mean anything."
"I'm not convinced that his location yesterday really had any significance," I added, palming my hair.
"I've got a solution," Guy interjected, fingers already tapping away at his laptop. "I bet Downing can spoof her phone location. Clint will see her device pinging from Maine even when she's really already in Seattle. The flip phone schtick isn't going to work forever. She needs to tell Clint she has some friends to visit in the city, so there is no reason to arrange for her flight. Then they can just arrange a place to meet."
"Good. But we need to establish a 'friend' other than one of us that Courtney is going to visit." I added, my mind racing with scenarios. "Chase, can you get with Giuseppe to set up security on the ground in Seattle? One of his men that he trusts to keep an eye on Courtney. Maybe he can use Dylan, someone who already works for him that was protecting Courtney and her roommate Jenna in Laramie."
"On it," Chase confirmed, jotting down a note.
And so, we planned, our brainstorming turning into a tempest of ideas. From coordinating with Downing and his FBI assistants, who could set up emergency extraction plans, from ensuring Courtney had a panic button app installed on her phone to providing her with self-defense gear. We plotted and planned, weaving a net of protection around her that we hoped would be enough.
The room fell silent as we processed the gravity of our plot. I could feel the determination hardening around us, a protective shell formed by our collective resolve. But as much as we were a team united against a sinister force, we were also professionals, and the clock was ticking.
"Okay," I finally broke the silence, staring at each of my comrades. "This is our game plan. We have our tasks. But remember, we can't raise suspicions by changing our routines drastically. It seems our media blitz did stir things up. But now, as far as anyone else is concerned, it's business as usual at Rosedale Tech. Courtney is visiting friends here in town, and we're crunching numbers for the next quarter."
I could see the gears shift in their minds, the abrupt change of pace almost jarring but necessary. Life didn't pause for our covert operations, and neither did business.
"Right, back to work then," Daniel said, tugging his laptop closer. "Let's get these projections ready."
It was at this moment, amid the mundane talk of financial forecasting and future market trends, that the universe decided to add another twist to our tale. Guy, grappling with the digital maze of corporate Excel sheets, happened upon a ghost from our past.
"Hey, guys, check this out," Guy called out, his discovery suddenly casting long, disturbing shadows over our spreadsheets. He pulled up a file labeled 'Clint buyout', and the details it revealed struck us like a bolt of lightning.
There it was, a check to Clint Tyree, dated January 6th from a decade ago — the same date that now sent chilly memories, the date often referred to in cryptic notes from the killer. Our impromptu war room turned ice cold, the implications of the discovery sinking in, feeding the undercurrent of dread that was already there.
Our past was a lot more entangled with the present than we'd thought. Could it be? Could Clint, the man we had cashed out a decade ago, be the elusive murderer?
The revelation left us in stunned silence. Our past had just reared its head in the most unexpected way. The buyout check, the date, the gruesome string of murders—it all pointed toward Clint. It was as if the universe was dropping breadcrumbs of a twisted tale, leading us back to a man we thought we had left in our past.
"But why?" Ryder finally broke the silence, his brows knitted together in consternation. "Why would Clint want to harm us? And why now?"
"Revenge," Guy suggested, his voice low. "We bought him out. Maybe he's never let go of that bitterness."
"Or power," Chase chimed in, his usually jovial face hardened into a grim mask. "We took away his position, his influence. This...this might be his twisted way of regaining control."
"That doesn't explain why he's fixated on Courtney," I interjected, my mind returning to the fiery, determined woman we were all worried about. "Why bring her into this?"
"Maybe she's a means to an end," Daniel speculated, his gaze distant as he pieced together the puzzle. "Remember the Golden Key Project? Clint and Courtney worked on that together. Could he be planning something?"
Cold dread snaked its way around my sensibilities. Courtney, alone in Seattle—meeting the monster. The thought sent alarm bells ringing in my head. The rest of the discussion was a blur as I set up a conference call with Downing and Giuseppe to fill them in.
As the system tried to connect with our cohorts, my mind spun into a terrifying possibility. Was Courtney just a pawn in Clint's vengeful game, caught up in a lethal crossfire of corporate rivalry? The thought gnawed at me as the dial tone droned on, each ring echoing the urgency of the situation.
As our hearts pounded in unison, the blank screen suddenly filled with Downing's face first. His eyes, usually warm with wisdom, had hardened into a flinty gaze that immediately grabbed our attention. Then Giuseppe appeared his stern countenance a silent harbinger of serious news.
The room fell into a heavy silence, the air dense with expectation. Downing's gaze traveled across the assembled faces on our side of the connection, the weight of his stare making the significance of the moment unmistakable. The words were yet unspoken, but the concern etched on his face conveyed more than enough.
"I was just about to call you," he finally said, his voice steady, a testament to years of experience, but the fatigue around his eyes spoke volumes. "As you know, I went to see Alex."
Downing explained how his interview was abruptly interrupted when suddenly Agent Carter Brown came into the jail's hospital room.
"Carter shows up, and Alex goes silent," Downing sighed. "Then suddenly Carter brings in nurse Kathy, saying Alex is too weak for an interview, that I'm somehow worsening his condition." Downing's tone shifted, his voice tinged with surprise. "But Alex got a message through. Said he'd only talk to Meagan, his late sister's friend. And just like that, our conversation ended."
Our apprehensions morphed into shock and confusion, the undercurrent of fear becoming a tidal wave. We traded wide-eyed glances as the enormity of the situation descended upon us.
"So, now, what he's saying is that he will only speak to Meagan?" Guy asked.
"Yep. That's it in a nutshell." Downing nodded.
