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"Harper," I lean in, "Is Julian in danger?"
"No," she assures me, her confidence briefly disarming my anxiety.
But then, my shoulders hunch up, bracing for news I'm unsure I want to hear. “What’s going on then?”
Kent's hand discreetly finds its way under the table. I don't need to look to know he's reaching for Harper's hand, a silent pillar of support.
Harper clears her throat. "I stumbled upon something on your laptop. Piecing it together with what Daniel's team uncovered at your place, we're starting to think this latest drama might not have something to do with Julian."
"Um, okay," I reply, my patience thinning. "Can someone please start explaining in plain English? Let's use our ABCs because I'm not following any of this." My hiss is sharper than intended, my gaze darting down to my watch. Julian's meeting should have ended ten minutes ago. Where is he?
Harper holds my gaze, her voice steady. "I found something unsettling on your laptop, Poppy."
"Go on..."
"While migrating your data to the new laptop, I ran a routine spyware check."
I nod, my heart rate quickening. "I’ve been careful about what I click, I swear. I remember the scams you told me about."
The sad smile she flashes me makes it feel like my heart is sweaty now. Is that even possible?
"Someone has been spying on you, Poppy.” Harper blurts out. “They used your camera. They recorded you," she whispers the last part.
Chills run up and down my flesh. I hear what she says, but it takes long to sink in. It’s like my mind forgets the definition of some of her words.
"My camera?" The words taste like acid. For a moment, the room feels like it’s tilting, the walls closing in on me. Someone was watching me through my camera! I grip the chair, fighting the bile rising in my throat, my heart pounding like a drum in my ears. My hands tremble uncontrollably, a cold sweat breaking out on my forehead.
“Well, my laptop isn’t always open, so…” My lungs feel on fire, every breath a struggle. “He never saw me… naked, right?” I whisper the last word, my voice barely audible, laced with desperation.
Harper is silent—she is never silent. A heavy, suffocating silence hangs between us, her usual comforting presence now void of uncertainty.
“Harper!” I press my voice breaking, panic rising with every passing second.
She looks down, her shoulders slumping as if the weight of the world rests on them. “There are other cameras,” she admits defeatedly, her voice a mere whisper.
My inhale is sharp, like a knife stabbing me in the back. Panic surges through me, cold and relentless. Standing up on shaky legs, then begin to pace the room, my mind racing with a thousand thoughts. “Well, it hasn’t been long. He didn’t see me much.”
The truth I won’t dare voice out loud is that I feel violated again, a deep, searing violation that cuts to my core. My pacing stops abruptly, and I suddenly feel paralyzed, my strength draining away. My vision blurs as I barely make it back to the chair, crashing into it, trying to mask the fact that my knees have given out completely. The room spins, my world unraveling, as I sit there, feeling utterly exposed and helpless.
"The spyware's been lurking for years, Poppy," Harper explains, now beside me. When did she move? "That's why we're doubting it's got anything to do with Julian."
"But the maintenance guy!" I exclaim, feeling like a broken record, clinging to the only lifeline I have, though it seems this particular lifeboat is riddled with holes, threatening to sink under the weight of unfolding revelations.
"We're not sure if he's tied to the Russians, but that's looking less likely. This could be about something—or someone—else entirely. They found more cameras just installed in your apartment, Poppy." Harper confesses; the fear in her voice makes me begin to shake.
"What in the world does that mean?"
"I'll get to the bottom of it," Harper vows, her determination shining like a lighthouse in a storm, but I feel too far away to swim toward the light.
The doors burst open as Julian enters the chaotic scene. "I told you to wait for me," he glares at Kent, his concern evident as he meets my gaze. “My uncle just told me about the cameras they found in the sprinkler heads,” he says, his voice filled with concern and urgency.
Oh my god! Now I understand. “So it was the maintenance man. He put cameras in the sprinkler heads to watch me.”
“Yes,” Harper replies, her voice solemn.
“Why?” I ask in utter disbelief, the word barely escaping my lips.
No one replies. Instead, all their eyes are on me, waiting for me to give them a clue, a direction, something to anchor their worries to.
