The ghost at the table – Draft -03 – Chapter 20

Stephanie

The office was quiet except for the methodical tapping of keys as I hunched over my computer, piecing together fragments of data like a digital-age detective. The glow from dual monitors cast an eerie pallor across the room, illuminating my focus: the mounting evidence against Logan.

“Patterns repeat,” I muttered to myself, scrolling through lines of code and transaction logs. Logan’s digital fingerprints were all over the place—careful, yes, but not careful enough to escape my scrutiny. The similarities were glaring, like breadcrumbs leading back to the same hands.

I leaned back in my chair, the leather creaking under my weight. My eyes narrowed as they danced across the screen. Each hacked business had been hit with finesse, a signature style that Logan couldn’t conceal no matter how hard he tried. It was his work, alright—the rapid-fire keystrokes he’d learned in the RAAF, used for precision strikes on virtual battlegrounds. He had always been fast, precise. But now, those skills served a darker purpose.

“Crafty bastard,” I whispered, respect mingling with resentment. He’d chosen his targets with care, businesses with vulnerabilities he could exploit, connections he could sever with surgical precision. It was almost poetic, the way he wove through their defences.

The room felt colder, the reality sinking in. Logan, the man who once typed up top-secret messages meant to protect, now used that same expertise to undermine. And here I was, about to blow the lid off his secret life—a life tinged by tragedy, shaped by the rejection he faced from the military when seeking help for his depression. A life that somehow intertwined with mine.

“Friend or foe?” I pondered, my thoughts echoing in the silent room. The line had blurred, and I found myself at its edge, peering into an abyss that threatened to consume us both. Logan’s past pains, the ones that pushed him into this corner, called out to me, demanded my empathy. But justice had its own siren song, and it sang of duty and righteousness.

“Choices,” I sighed, feeling the weight of what was to come. There was no escaping it. Friendship and survival in rural Australia, where bonds are forged in adversity, were about to be tested. The question loomed like a storm cloud on the horizon: When the rain came, would our friendship provide shelter, or would it wash away, leaving nothing but the stark truth in its wake?

Fingers flew over keys. Data on one screen, Logan’s client list on another. I cross-referenced. My gut twisted with each match. Logan… what have you done?

“Coincidence?” No. Patterns don’t lie. His clients, targets of cybercrimes. Too many overlaps. Too neat.

“Damn it.” The word was a hiss between clenched teeth. Evidence stacked against a friend. A friend? Doubt crept in like frost on winter mornings.

I had to confront him. Had to hear it from him. My heart hammered. Betrayal stung like a slap.

“Can’t let this slide.” Duty called, louder than friendship. Louder than the memories of shared drinks and laughter under the vast Australian sky.

“Need answers.” The decision was iron. Solid. Unyielding. Logan, the fast-typing IT consultant, my friend, now a suspect. A line drawn. And me, about to cross it.

The sun was low, throwing long shadows across Meningie’s modest main street as I parked the car with more force than necessary. Gravel crunched underfoot with each determined step towards Logan’s office. The familiar faded sign, “Robinson IT Consulting” now seemed a front for deceit.

I pushed open the door, a jangle of bells announcing my entrance like a herald for confrontation. His office was cluttered, a reflection of Logan’s mind, always buzzing with activity. He looked up, his fingers stilling on the keyboard.

“Steph,” he said, voice cautious. “What brings you here?”

“Cut the small talk, Logan.” My words were sharp, direct. “I know about the hacks.”

His face stiffened, the mask of innocence slipping. “What are you talking about?”

“Your clients. The cybercrimes.” I stepped closer, the space between us charged with accusation. “It’s all connected to you.”

Logan leaned back in his chair, trying to hold onto his composure. I could see it, the flicker of guilt behind his eyes.

“Steph, I swear—”

“Save it.” Anger surged, hot and raw. “I trusted you. We were friends.”

“Stephanie, please—”

“Friends don’t use each other’s trust to cover up their crimes!” Sadness laced the anger now, betrayal turning the words bitter in my mouth.

He opened his mouth to protest, but the evidence was there, in my head, ready to be laid out like cards on a table. Silence hung heavy for a moment, filled only by the hum of an old air conditioner.

“Say something, damn it.” My voice broke, more from sorrow than fury.

“Steph…” Logan’s voice was softer now. Regret was there, fighting through the layers.

The room seemed to shrink, pressing in on us. Outside, life in Meningie trudged along, unaware of the fracture lines running through a friendship within these four walls. A friendship that had meant survival, had weathered storms. Now, it was the storm.

“Talk to me, Logan.” I pleaded, despite myself. “Please.”

I shuffle papers on the desk, a weak shield. Stephanie stands there, like justice itself, unyielding. She slaps down printouts, strings of code, transaction records. Evidence.

“I don’t know what this is,” I bluff.

“Really?” Her voice cuts through the pretence. “Because these are your digital fingerprints all over them.”

I scan the pages. My work stares back, incriminating. The patterns, the methods – undeniably mine. The room feels colder. I can’t deny it. Not anymore. Not to her.

“Okay.” I exhale, defeated. “It’s true.”

“True?” She echoes, disbelief and pain mingling in her tone. “How could you?”

“Steph, it’s complicated.”

“Complicated?” Her laugh is hollow, bitter. “Betrayal seems pretty straightforward to me.”

“Please.” I’m begging now. “Let me explain.”

“Explain then.” She slams her hand on the desk, leaning in. “Explain how you could do this to your friends, to me.”

I look at her, really look. The hurt in her eyes mirrors my own inner turmoil. Friendship was our lifeline, and I’ve severed it with my own hands. I owe her the truth, but words feel like boulders on my tongue.

“Steph…” It’s all that comes out, a plea, a start. But how to finish?

“Talk, Logan!” She demands, voice trembling. “Make me understand why.”

Understanding. That’s a tall order. A bridge burnt down to embers between us. But she’s here, isn’t she? Despite everything, asking for answers. Maybe that’s where we start rebuilding. With the why.

“Okay.” I take a deep breath. “I’ll tell you everything.”

My heart’s racing. Can’t seem to catch my breath. The room’s spinning a bit, and there she is. Stephanie. Waiting. Her eyes are on me—sharp, searching. She’s angry, but there’s something else in her gaze. Something like… understanding? No, can’t be.

“Logan.” Her voice cuts through the silence. “Why?”

Guilt weighs heavy. It’s choking me. I’ve got to say something, anything. “I was hurting,” I manage to choke out. “Felt cornered. And they… they offered a way out.”

“Who did?” Her brow furrows, her stance softens just a fraction. She’s listening.

“Doesn’t matter who,” I say quickly. “It’s what they asked of me that counts.”

“Which was?”

“Revenge.” There, I said it. The word hangs between us, ugly and stark.

“Revenge for what?” Her voice cracks, but she’s steady, focused.

“Everything I lost. Everything taken from me.” My voice is a whisper now. “The military broke me, Steph. Left me with nothing. These people… they understood.”

“Understood what, Logan?” Her hand’s still on the desk, but her grip has loosened.

“Anguish.” I look up, meet her eyes. “They knew the pain of being cast aside. Of not fitting the mould.”

“Is that why you targeted them? The businesses?” She tilts her head, trying to piece it together.

“Targets were chosen for me.” I shrug. “But yeah, they all had ties to the structures that…” I trail off. Can’t finish that sentence. Too raw.

“Structures that what, Logan?”

“Structures that fail us,” I finally say. “That ignore our cries for help.”

She doesn’t say anything for a moment. Just looks at me. In her gaze, I see the conflict. The anger’s still there, but so is something else. A glimmer of empathy?

“Did it help?” she asks quietly. “The revenge?”

“Help?” I scoff. “No. It’s hollow. Feels worse now.”

“Because of me?” There’s vulnerability in her question.

“Because of everything.” I slump in my chair. Tired. So damn tired.

“Logan,” she says, and there’s a tremor in her voice. “We could’ve helped you. You didn’t have to do this alone.”

“Didn’t I?” I ask, bitterness creeping in. “Seems like solitude’s all I’ve ever known.”

“Except for our friendship,” she reminds me softly. “Don’t forget that.”

“Friendship,” I repeat, the word foreign on my tongue. “Yeah. That was something real, wasn’t it?”

“Still is,” she insists. “If you let it be.”

Our eyes lock, and in that moment, there’s an unspoken promise. A chance at redemption. Maybe even forgiveness. But it’s a long road ahead. For both of us.

The air is thick with unspoken grief. Stephanie’s eyes hold mine, blue oceans swirling with storms of betrayal and shared sorrow. I can almost touch our loss, as tangible as the desk between us.

“Things got out of hand,” I murmur, my voice a gravel road, uneven and rough.

“Out of hand?” Her eyebrows knit together. “People were hurt, Logan.”

“I know.” The words are stones in my mouth.

Her gaze doesn’t waver. “But why? Why those companies?”

“They’re part of the system. A system that doesn’t care.” My hands clench into fists, knuckles white. “Like it didn’t care about her.”

Stephanie’s breath catches. I see it then—the shadow of pain crossing her face. She gets it. The memory of the car crash that took her sister, my friend, hangs silent and heavy. Our shared loss, always lurking in the background.

“Revenge won’t bring her back, Logan.” Her voice is softer now, not just a cybercrime specialist, but a friend in mourning.

“Doesn’t stop the wanting,” I say, voice barely above a whisper.

“Doesn’t make it right either.” She leans forward, the investigator receding, the friend stepping closer.

“Right or wrong stopped mattering after the funeral. It was just me… and the code.” I let the words fall, like leaves from a dying tree.

“Alone,” she says, understanding more than I wish she did.

“Alone with ghosts and guilt.” I look down, unable to meet her knowing eyes.

“Logan, listen to me.” Her hand reaches across the desk, stopping short of touching mine. “I’m angry, yes. But I get it, the why. That doesn’t excuse it, but…”

“But what?” I glance up, searching for absolution in her face.

“But nothing,” she shakes her head, strands of hair falling across her face like curtains closing on a final act. “Just… I see you, Logan. All of you. The good too.”

“Good’s buried deep,” I admit, feeling the pull of her empathy like a lifeline.

“Then we dig,” she says, determination colouring her tone. “Together.”

“Digging…” I echo, the notion foreign yet comforting.

“Friendship,” she says, her voice a gentle caress against the harsh truth. “It’s what we have. What we need.”

“Friendship,” I repeat, testing the weight of the word. It feels like hope. Maybe even a start.

“Stephanie,” I blurt out, the word a grenade in the silence. “I’ll fix it.”

She arches an eyebrow, scepticism etched on her face like graffiti on clean walls. “Fix it?” Her words are sharp, measuring.

“Everything.” My hands open and close, reaching for solutions in the charged air. “I’ll turn them in. All of them.”

“Them?” She probes, eyes narrowing, searching my face for lies that aren’t there.

“The criminals. The ones behind this.” I’m all in now, cards on the table.

“Logan…” She hesitates, the conflict in her eyes mirroring my own.

“Steph, I mean it.” My voice is gravel, raw with the need to make her believe. “Tell me what to do. I’ll do it.”

She stands, pacing like a caged dingo, mind racing through the scrub. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“Help me help you,” I press, the words clumsy but sincere.

Her gaze lands on me again, heavy with unseen weight. “It’s not that simple.”

“Make it simple.” Desperation claws at my throat.

“Logan…” She pauses, the investigator wrestling with the friend. “This… this is serious.”

“I know.” I meet her look, steady. “Deadly serious.”

“Deadly…” She echoes, the word hanging between us like a noose.

There’s a long beat where only the old clock ticks its judgement. Her duty, her principles – they’re a cross she bears with each step around my cluttered office.

“Okay.” The word is a bullet shot into the unknown. “But we do this by the book. Clear?”

“Crystal.” Relief washes over me, cold and sharp as river water.

“By the book means full disclosure, Logan.” Her voice hardens. “No more games.”

“No more games,” I confirm, sealing my fate with the promise.

“Friendship got us here,” she says, softness seeping back in. “Let’s see if it can take us through.”

“Through,” I repeat, nodding, feeling the weight of every syllable. “To the other side.”

“Other side,” she whispers, half to herself, and turns away, looking out the window at the sweeping expanse of Meningie’s barren beauty. Her profile against the waning light is all sharp angles and resolve.

“Survival,” I mutter, mostly to myself, watching her silhouette. In this desolate place, friendship isn’t just a lifeline. It’s the whole damn rescue team.

I step closer. Stephanie’s eyes, oceans of turmoil, meet mine. The room shrinks, walls closing in on the truth we’ve laid bare. We’re two souls, fractured by secrets and codes.

“Steph…”

“Logan.” Her voice is a whisper, a leaf in the wind.

Outside, Meningie just is, unaware of the storm inside this office. My past—a ghost haunting every keystroke, every line of code. Hers—an oath to uphold, a badge worn with honour.

“Sorry doesn’t cut it,” I say. It’s a bullet casing, empty and cold.

“Sorry never does.” Her arms open, not in surrender, but offering truce.

I nod once. It’s all I can muster. Words are useless now, like spent rounds scattered on the floor. So we speak in silence, the language of damaged hearts.

I close the gap, my steps heavy with guilt. She stands her ground, as solid as the earth beneath us. In the space between breaths, we connect—a circuit completed, currents of pain and purpose flowing through us.

Her arms wrap around me, and I’m home. Not the home I’ve known—four walls, a roof, isolation. But a home where friendship anchors, where loyalty binds tighter than any chain.

We don’t move. Time does. Seconds stretch into minutes, shadows lengthen across the cluttered room. Our embrace is a fortress, built on the ruins of what was, shielding what could be.

“Survival,” I breathe into her hair.

“Friendship,” she murmurs against my chest.

“Both.” A pact sealed in the pressing darkness.

The chapter closes, but our story—it’s just begun.