I had to get out of there. When Zoey was in my arms, kissing me and letting me undress her, I choked. I just couldn’t continue with her knowing that I had doubts about her honesty and intending to snoop around in her tiny apartment later. Maybe she had been behind the data breach, but I wouldn’t use my real attraction to her, or what at least seemed like her real attraction to me, in order to trick her into letting me investigate her. There had to be another way.

People use sex to manipulate each other all the time. If it was just that, just sex, I would have done it without hesitation. I’d done as much and worse before.

But I really liked Zoey. She was funny, kind, and smart. Zoey interested me more than any woman had in a long time. The thought of using her just made me feel dirty. Even though I was furious about the theft of my data, there was no proof that Zoey had anything to do with it. She had motive to steal data. She was practically living in poverty, but that didn’t make her guilty. I felt like shit for leading her on, and doubly so because I really wanted her.

But leaving the way I did, she probably wouldn’t push me into the ocean if I was on fire, let alone invite me into her bed. I had my car drive itself across town back to my own apartment in defeat. Not only was self-driving technology really cool, it came in handy when I was feeling too guilty and sexually frustrated to drive. Thoughts of her soft lips and fantastic tits flitted through my head the entire time, torturing me.

“Incoming text from Cecelia,” the car told me as I was sitting in the parking garage under my apartment with my head in my hands, “’You up?’”

Cecelia, a happily married woman who thought I was obnoxious on a personal level, wasn’t looking for a booty call. She must have a reason to reach out this late. I called her. She answered on the first ring.

“What’s up?” I asked her, hopeful that she was texting because she figured out what happened.

“We just finished reviewing all the security footage from all the cameras onsite,” she said, ignoring all the social niceties and getting straight to the point the way she always did, “there’s a one-hour gap in the security footage of the server room. Whoever actually accessed the data may not be the person who disabled the security cameras, or it may have been one person, because we can’t figure out how exactly the security cameras were turned off yet. Realistically, anyone with the right passwords and access to the hardwired machines or network connected devices in the building could have gone into the system and switched off the cameras.”

“That’s not new information, just confirmation of old information. Were you able to track Zoey’s movements throughout the building in order to exclude her?” If Cecelia didn’t have news, she wouldn’t be calling, but unfortunately, we didn’t always agree on what the most important points were.

“Not yet,” Cecelia said, “your little tabloid-writer friend took a roundabout route through the building. She was following multiple people with badges. She drops off and shows back up on cameras for half an hour before she arrives in the executive suite. She definitely had the opportunity to access a computer and mess with the cameras during the times she wasn’t recorded.”

“We knew that already. What is the information you called to tell me?” I snapped irritably. Cecelia had been adamant that Zoey was behind the hack from the moment we first discussed it. She’d begun reviewing the security footage, seen a woman sneaking in where she shouldn’t have been, and decided it was definitely her.

“We figured out exactly when the camera system was accessed,” Cecelia answered, not even noticing that my tone had gone from hopeful to harsh, “and it was during one of the gaps in the security footage when we know Atkinson was somewhere on the ninth floor but not on camera near the exits.”

“So, go through the key stroke logging of every terminal on that floor,” I barked. She should know this already.

“We’re doing that now. Unfortunately, there are nine hundred and seventy-five computers on that level, and at least three times as many tablets and phones that have network access which could have potentially been moved to that level.”

“How long will it take?”

“Everyone is still here, but even working around the clock? At least five days.”

“Is there another way to figure out if it was Zoey?”

“Sure. She could tell us which computer she used.”

“Besides that.”

“No.”

“What you’re really telling me is that my choice is to either devote sixty people to five days of round the clock work on the hunch that we could prove that Zoey disabled the cameras while she was on the ninth floor, or to continue trying to investigate in other ways?”

“Yes.”

I took a deep breath.

“I don’t like either of those options,” I said finally, “so I want you to put a small group, maybe twenty-five percent, on the key logging and keep everyone else trying to figure out a more efficient way to determine what happened. We can’t waste five days going through key logging when the manned test is in four.”

Cecelia was silent, which was her version of disagreement.

“Does that make sense?” I finally followed up.

“It does,” she said shortly, “I’ll keep you updated on the progress. When would you like the next report?”

I looked at the clock. It was two a.m.

“Seven a.m.,” I said, “and let people sleep, Cecelia. Put them on shifts, but I don’t want anyone working more than ten hours straight. It’s bad for their health and makes them sloppy.”

“Alright. Just out of curiosity,” she finally ventured, “did you manage to get anything out of Atkinson tonight?”

“No,” I responded, “I didn’t. I also think it might be better if we just told her the evidence suggests she might have been involved.”

“You mean, interrogate her?”

“I mean have a discussion about our findings. Maybe she can tell us something that will help us.”

“I like that idea,” Cecelia said, surprising me, “can I be involved in the discussion?”

“Of course,” I replied, “you’re the Director of Security. I’ll get something set up.”

“Will you have law enforcement there if she confesses or implicates herself?” Cecelia asked, and I shook my head despite the fact she couldn’t see me.

“If she confesses,” I promised Cecelia, “I’ll personally tackle her and keep her from running away until the cops show up. Or you can do it, if you prefer.”

“I can live with that,” Cecelia answered, “I’ll call you at seven.”

Never one for goodbyes, Cecelia hung up on me, leaving me alone with my thoughts.