The ghost at the table – Draft 03 – Chapter 11

Stephanie

Fingers danced across the keyboard, a staccato rhythm in the near-dark. The glow from the screen was the only light, casting an eerie pallor on Stephanie’s face. She delved deeper, layers of security peeling away under her relentless assault. Dark web, darker motives. Australia’s underbelly was throbbing with digital pulses of crime, and she was the huntress tracking its blood trail.

A forum, hidden beyond hidden. Not for amateurs or the faint-hearted. A place where your IP address could be a bullet train to disaster if you weren’t careful. Stephanie was more than careful; she was meticulous. Her eyes, sharp as a hawk’s, scanned through posts – drugs, arms, and the promise of illicit thrills spilling across the monitor.

Then, it caught her eye. A photograph. Just another thumbnail among the chaos, but Stephanie’s instincts screamed. There was something there. Something off. Click. The image expanded, filling the screen with its grainy reality.

It was a nondescript scene, too mundane at a glance with figures shrouded in shadow. But Stephanie wasn’t looking at the shadows; she was looking beyond them. The devil’s in the details, Andy would say. And there it was—a clue hiding in plain sight.

She leaned closer, squinting. It wasn’t obvious, not something that screamed ‘look at me’, but to Stephanie’s trained eye, it was a siren call. That subtle inconsistency in the image was a whisper of something more, a thread begging to be pulled.

“Gotcha,” she muttered under her breath, a predatory smile touching her lips. This was it—the lead she had been searching for. An adrenaline rush surged through her veins, the thrill of the chase igniting a fire within. In the vast wasteland of cyber threats, this was her beacon. Now, all she needed to do was follow it.

—

I zoomed in. Pixels danced, came into focus. A street sign loomed in the background. “Woodville” it read, bold and unassuming against the blur of the image.

“Woodville…” I murmured, tapping a rhythm on my desk with my fingers. The name didn’t ring any bells—not yet. But that was bound to change.

I cracked my knuckles and dove headfirst into research. Woodville had to be more than just a name; it was a piece to a puzzle, a silent witness to crimes lurking in Adelaide’s underbelly.

The internet spilled its secrets. Woodville. Suburb lying eight km north-west of the CBD. Quietly richer and more highly educated than many in the area, a well-kept secret in a heartland teeming with dishevelled houses and rusty warehouses. Hidden in plain sight, just like the clue in the photograph. Just a fraction over 2,000 Adelaideans living there, and many examples of prized colonial and federation architecture among its streets. Significant parts of Woodville have been declared a Historic Conservation Zone. ß

“Of course,” I breathed out, a smirk creeping onto my face. Warehouses meant space, privacy. Perfect for things—or people—you wanted to keep out of the spotlight.

I leaned back, eyes tracing the ceiling’s cracks. Friendships were my lifeline in this desolate cyber landscape. Andy would have been proud. It was his kind of lead – raw, unpolished, but with potential.

“Time to see what you’re hiding, Woodville,” I whispered to no one, already plotting my next move.

Decision made. No turning back now. That particular warehouse in Woodville had to be it, the nexus of it all. Cybercrime left digital trails, but the physical world was where consequences materialized. That’s where I’d find answers.

I grabbed my bag, its contents meticulously chosen for nights like these. My laptop, a lifeline to the outside world, nestled next to lock picks—old school but effective. A compact flashlight, a multitool, and a stun gun—because sometimes tech solutions needed a human touch. Can’t be too careful, not with stakes this high.

My phone buzzed. A text from Andy. “Stay safe.” Two words, a book’s worth of concern. He knew the score, the danger. It was his lead that got me here, after all. This wasn’t just my fight anymore; it was ours.

“Always do,” I replied, slipping the phone into my pocket. Adelaide wasn’t just new addresses and unfamiliar faces. It was friendships, connections. They kept you grounded, gave you reasons to keep pushing when everything else said stop.

I double-checked my gear. Earpiece, to stay connected. Gloves, to leave no trace. And pepper spray, a last resort. Every item a silent ally, a promise that I wasn’t walking into the dark alone.

Time to move. Time to see what secrets Woodville’s shadows held. Cybercrime might be my game, but tonight, it played out in the real world. Tonight, I stepped into their arena. And I was ready.

—

The night clung to Adelaide like a second skin. Stars were shy above Woodville, peeking through the urban haze. Wheels rolled over asphalt, the hum of my engine a steady pulse in the quiet. My grip on the steering wheel was firm, fingertips pressed hard enough to turn white. Adrenaline had its hooks in me. Each streetlight I passed seemed like a spotlight, urging me forward.

Woodville loomed closer, warehouses rising like silent giants guarding secrets. The photograph’s clue wasn’t just a lead; it was an invitation. A challenge. And challenges were something I never backed away from.

I eased off the accelerator as the warehouse from the photo crept into view. Couldn’t park too close. Had to keep it stealthy. I found a spot blocks away, secluded by a row of eucalyptus trees. The scent was strong, comforting almost. Reminded me of camping trips when life was simpler, when cybercrime was a term I hadn’t yet learned.

Kill the lights. Kill the engine. Sit for a heartbeat. Two. Check the rearview mirror. Nothing but shadows dancing in the faint glow of distant streetlamps.

“Alright, Steph,” I whispered to myself, a small mantra to steel my nerves. “In and out.”

Sliding out of the car, I locked it with a soft beep that sounded too loud in the silence. Checked my gear one last time. Everything secure. Everything necessary.

Footsteps muffled by worn trainers, I moved through the night. Buildings rose around me, their metal skins cold and unfeeling. No moon to guide me, just the memory of the photo etched behind my eyelids. Woodville Street. That sign was the breadcrumb leading me deeper into this mess.

A dog barked somewhere in the distance, a lonely sound that made me think of Andy’s worried face. He’d tell me I was mad for doing this solo. Maybe he was right. But trust didn’t come easy, and less so with every file I decrypted, every layer I peeled back to reveal the rot beneath.