Chapter 3: Cracked Screens, Shattered Trust (Nate POV)

By midday, the office was a damn powder keg ready to blow. Those morning whispers hadn’t died down, they’d gotten louder, slicing through the air like blades. I was at my desk, that crumpled note, “Watch your secrets,” still burning a hole in my pocket, making my palms slick. Tried to work, act chill, but my eyes kept jumping around. People were hustling, heads ducked, dodging me like I had the plague. Something was messed up, bad messed up.

Then I saw ‘em. Two security goons in dark gear barreled through the glass doors, heading straight for me. My gut flipped hard. Everyone froze, heads swiveling, eyes bugging out. Wanted to bolt, but my legs were cement.

“Nate Carter?” the tall one barked, voice flat but booming. Bald guy, badge gleaming under the lights.

“Yeah?” I croaked, mouth dry as hell. Heart was pounding like it wanted out.

“Come with us,” he said. No details, just that.

Stood up slow, chair screeching loud enough to make me flinch. “What’s this about?” I asked, but they didn’t bite. The shorter one, buzz cut, grabbed my arm, not rough, but tight enough to say I wasn’t wiggling free. People gawked, some whispering, some faking like they didn’t see. Caught Liam across the room, coffee stalled halfway to his mouth, staring at me like I’d grown horns.

They marched me through the office, past desks and those damn glass walls that hid nothing. Felt like a fish tank, everybody watching me flop. Face was on fire, brain racing. The email? The breach? That note? No clue, and the blank spot was eating me alive.

Dumped me in a conference room down the hall. Bare as hell, white walls, long table, one window with blinds slammed shut. Glass wall to the office was my only out, and it didn’t feel like one. They plopped me in a chair, flanking me like bouncers. Wiped my sweaty hands on my jeans, trying to suck in air.

Bald guy kicked it off. “We got a problem, Nate. Big one.”

“What problem?” I asked, voice wobbling. “I don’t even know why I’m here.”

He yanked out a tablet, tapped it, and shoved it at me. “This,” he said. Screen showed server logs, timestamps, code snippets I knew from our project. My name was plastered everywhere, tagged to some file marked “exported.” Dated last night, smack when Liam and I were grinding late.

Stared at it, brain scrambling like a busted radio. “What’s this?”

“Proof,” buzz cut said, arms crossed. “You leaked company code to a competitor. Shot it right outta our system.”

“No,” I said, shaking my head fast. “That’s bullshit. I didn’t do that.”

“Logs don’t lie,” bald guy said. “Your access ID, your timestamps, all here.”

“They’re wrong,” I snapped, louder than I meant. “I was debugging with Liam last night. That’s it. Didn’t send jack.”

They didn’t flinch. “Logs say otherwise,” buzz cut said. “Got a payment trail too, ten grand wired to an account tied to you.”

Chest squeezed tight. “What? I don’t have that kinda cash. This is insane.”

Bald guy leaned in, face like stone. “You’re in deep, kid. Spill who you’re working with, maybe we go easy.”

“I’m not working with anybody!” I yelled, slamming my fist on the table. Stung like hell, didn’t care. “Someone’s framing me!”

They swapped a look, like I was some punk they’d heard this from before. “We’ll see,” bald guy said. “Stay put.”

They bailed, leaving me with the tablet. Stared at those logs, head spinning like a top. This wasn’t happening. Couldn’t be. I’d only touched the project last night, no exports, no leaks. But there it was, my name, my ID, pinned to shit I didn’t do. Hands shook as I scrolled, hunting for a screw-up, anything to clear me. Nothing clicked.

Through the glass, I spotted Harper’s office across the hall. She was standing there, arms crossed, staring me down. Face blank, cool as ice, like she was waiting for the axe to drop. Our eyes locked, and she didn’t blink, just held it, unreadable. Chill shot down my spine. She’d been there last night, right after that email fiasco. Did she know? Was this her?

Door swung open, and Liam stepped in. Heart jumped, he’d fix this, he’d know I’m clean. But his face hit me like a brick. Tired, unsure, hands jammed in his pockets like he didn’t know where to put ‘em.

“Liam,” I said, popping up. “Tell ‘em. You were with me all night. I didn’t leak shit.”

He nodded slow, but wouldn’t look straight at me. “Yeah, we were together,” he said, voice low. “But… I dunno, Nate. This looks rough.”

Gut dropped like a rock. “What? You know me. I wouldn’t do this.”

“Wanna believe you,” he said, finally meeting my eyes. Looked like he was picking me apart. “But these logs, they’re tight. I don’t get how this fits.”

“It doesn’t fit!” I barked, voice cracking. “Someone cooked it up. You gotta see that.”

He stepped back, raking a hand through his hair. “We’ll sort it,” he said, but it sounded limp, like he wasn’t sold. “Just… hang tight, alright?”

That cut deeper than anything the security clowns threw at me. He was supposed to have my back. We’d slogged through late nights, brutal deadlines, and now he’s waffling? One glance at fake logs, and he’s doubting me? First real crack between us, and it stung like hell.

“Liam,” I said, quieter, “you know me.”

“I do,” he said, but it felt hollow. Turned and split, door clicking shut.

Sank into the chair, chest aching like I’d been punched. He didn’t believe me, not full-on. Saw it in his eyes, that little seed of doubt sprouting. Killed me.

Security guys rolled back in, yapping about next steps, calling some higher-up. Barely heard ‘em. Eyes drifted to my laptop, still on the table from when they nabbed me. Reached for it, desperate for anything, any damn scrap, to fight this.