CHAPTER 135: THE DEVELOPER

–Laura–

The revelations? Oh, they hit me like a double shot of espresso straight to the brain. I never expected my sister to know who Louie Lancer really was. To me, he had always been just our CEO—the man with a decent jawline, a good work ethic, and a mysterious knack for keeping the company steady even when the storm clouds rolled in. The company was in capable hands because of him, that much I never doubted.

We did our background checks, of course—thorough ones. I’m not that gullible. But I never gave him the full family recipe, only the ingredients he needed to run the kitchen. The rest, well, that was kept locked away in a vault of secrets, just like mother taught us.

And then came the revelation—like a hammer to the kneecaps—that he was one of the developers of the compass. Thecompass. My mouth went dry, my heart skipped a polite beat, and even the babies in my stomach jittered as if they’d just had their first taste of caffeine.

"Wow," I mumbled, because what else could I say when my sister was sitting there smirking like the cat who’d just eaten the canary and half the coop with it?

"Who are you working with?" Livana asked him, her voice like silk over steel.

"No one," he said flatly, his face an unreadable wall. "I came here because I need to retrieve it, Livana."

"Mother allowed you to live under a different identity to save your skin. But why," she leaned forward ever so slightly, "why waltz back into the company using your birth name?"

Her tone could have cut glass. Louie Lancer—normally the man with all the corporate confidence—seemed to falter. I know that tone of hers. Sweet one moment, syrupy even, and then—click—it switches.

"Miss Laura~~," Louie’s voice softened a little as though he was trying to shift the battlefield by appealing to me instead.

"I know that compass is dangerous, but why do you want it?" Livana pressed further, relentless as a hunting hound.

I exhaled softly, knowing this was going to get uglier before it got prettier. Just then, a knock at the door snapped the tension like a brittle thread. Louie got up, shoulders stiff, and opened it.

And in came Damon, like a very casual hurricane, balancing our snacks like they were a peace offering. He handed Louie some steaming cup of mysterious coffee and placed a milk tea in front of me—creme brûlée sinkers, creamy cinnamon swirl. The smell was a sweet little seduction of its own.

"What’s going on?" Damon asked as he handed Livana her matcha. Oh, matcha. My weakness. But so was milk tea. Dilemma, table for one.

"Nothing," Livana smiled up at him, all charm now. "Go home."

"Well, I’m bored," he said with that low chuckle of his, then kissed her. "But okay."

"Buy me some cake," I said as he passed by me, already sipping my tea like a queen in waiting.

"Text it," he tossed over his shoulder.

"Okies," I giggled as he left. I sank my teeth into the cinnamon Danish and hummed in approval. Louie, poor man, cleared his throat like a schoolboy about to admit cheating on a test.

"You have the whole day to tell me everything," Livana said, standing now, matcha in hand. "I know where your family is located. You wouldn’t want them to know it as well, right?"

Oh, that landed. I saw the flicker of panic flash in Louie’s eyes. He probably didn’t expect my sister to wield information like a knife.

I gathered my food and turned to him. "Okay, Louie, my sister is scary—really scary. So, telling her everything truthfully? Safer." I winked, because I am the unofficial comic relief in this dark little opera.

I held the door open for my sister, and she gracefully held my arm as we moved to our office. She helped me with my bag, set it on my desk, and I carefully arranged my pastries far from the computer—priorities, right?

"Don’t you want to eat some of the pastries Damon bought?" I teased.

"I’m not in the mood for sweets." She walked around her desk and slumped into her chair like a queen in exile. "Damn it," she hissed.

"Why are you so annoyed?" I asked, sliding my laptop open.

"Damon has the worst timing," she gritted her teeth. God, she was adorable when she was annoyed. If Damon had seen that look, he’d probably do something equally annoying just to earn it again.

I giggled, and she glared daggers at me.

"What are you giggling about?" Her voice was sharp enough to skin a fish.

"Nothing. Carry on with your annoyance," I said breezily. "But if Louie is indeed the developer, why not test him? Ask him things only a true developer would know. You already know what’s inside the drive, you know how it was created—why not make him squirm a little?"

Her lips curved. "You are right." She crossed her arms, smirked that dangerous little smirk. "I’ll make my husband suffer tonight for interrupting my interrogation."

I burst out laughing. "You are so funny."

Just when we started to settle back into our work, another knock echoed through the room. I pressed the button beneath my desk, the door unlocked with a soft click, and in came Louie—this time with a briefcase. His expression was set, jaw tight.

"Have a seat," Livana gestured. Then she stood and moved to the sofa, her walking stick tapping lightly against the floor. She sat, poised, and Louie set the briefcase down, flipped it open, and turned it toward her.

"This is what that device contains."

Curiosity got the better of me—I abandoned my pastries and perched next to her. My mouth parted in awe as I stared at the heavy, rugged-looking laptop, its screen alive with a forest of codes and chaotic windows dancing like neon ghosts.

"This... keeps going," Louie said, voice grave. "I need to shut it down. That device has the code to stop this." He looked at my sister, and for the first time, I saw something raw there—desperation. "So, I’m begging you, Livana. We need to stop this."

I blinked, eyes tracing the flickering numbers on the screen. The data wasn’t just massive—it was monstrous. Entire systems, encrypted layers upon encrypted layers. Government files. Crime feeds. Surveillance logs. Real-time incidents.

And then I froze. Because as I scrolled my eyes over one feed in particular, a live recording opened—not just crimes, but something still unfolding.

"Louie..." I whispered, my fingers trembling slightly. "Is that... is that happening now

?"

–Livana–

I knew the flaws. I had memorized every crack, every loose stitch that could unravel this web. And I also knew how to stop it. My mother had prepared me for this long before her departure, weaving her wisdom into my mind like threads in an unbreakable tapestry.

I bent down slightly, fingers poised over the keyboard, and began typing in the code she once whispered to me in confidence. Her voice was still vivid in my mind—each instruction etched with precision, each formula laced with intent. Ten minutes of trial and error. Ten minutes of piercing silence, only the soft hum of the machine and the steady rhythm of my breathing filling the room.

Then—click. The recording ceased, its restless stream of stolen truths halting in place. I pushed the laptop toward him, letting the gesture speak for me before my words did.

"It’s done."

Louie froze. His eyes lingered on me, wide with something between disbelief and admiration, like a man staring at a weapon he never quite understood.

"You have a photographic memory," he said at last, his voice carrying both awe and accusation.

"You might say that." I leaned back, crossing one leg over the other with slow, deliberate elegance. "But everything about my mother is unforgettable." My lips curved faintly, not in kindness but in quiet dominance. "You don’t need the device anymore."

"Right." He managed a thin smile, the kind that cracked under its own weight. "Thank you, Livana." He exhaled, the kind of sigh men give when they realize they have been outplayed. He closed the laptop carefully, as though the act could shield him from what came next. "I knew you could crack it."

And then—there it was. The telltale shift. The faint twitch at the corner of his mouth that wasn’t gratitude at all, but calculation. A smirk, restrained but not well-hidden.

I tilted my head, studying him the way a hawk studies something that pretends to be harmless. I knew what he was hiding. He was working with someone—there was always someone—and I had to know who.

He chuckled, leaning back against the sofa with a casualness that was far too rehearsed. Louie was a man who lived inside his masks, but masks, like any facade, eventually crack. And he was beginning to crack.

"Now," I said, my voice carrying the weight of command, "are you going to tell me who you are working for?" My arms folded slowly across my chest, the gesture less of protection and more of challenge.

"You don’t have to know. Not yet," he replied smoothly, though his eyes flickered. "But you will meet my master."

"Hmm." I let the sound linger, soft yet cutting. "Does this affect the company? Or are you planning to exploit everything within it?"

I waited, still, poised.

"No." He shook his head firmly. "I won’t betray this company. My family is one of the co-founders too."

I nodded once, a graceful acknowledgment that revealed nothing. "Indeed," I murmured. "They are co-founders. But even those closest to us," my voice dropped like a blade, "have been known to betray."

He said nothing, but his silence said enough.

There is always a cost to loyalty. A price to truth. And Louie Lancer—whether he realized it or not—was standing at the edge of that price, teetering.