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“I’ll be honest,” he says, opening a slim leather portfolio. “I wasn’t sure what to expect. Your reputation precedes you in certain circles, but reputation and reality don’t always align.”

“What circles are those?”

He smiles. It reaches his eyes, but only just. “The kind that pay attention to people who can get into places they shouldn’t be.”

I hold his gaze. “I do ethical penetration testing. It’s all above-board.”

“Of course. I’ve seen your certifications.” He pauses, glancing down at his notes. “Your work on the Meridian breach simulation was impressive. The way you mapped their internal routing without triggering a single alert? That’s not something most professionals can manage.”

The Meridian project. That was two years ago, a proof-of-concept exercise for a bank that wanted to test their resilience. I spent three weeks on it, working nights and weekends, building a custom approach that wouldn’t set off their detection systems. It was some of my best work.

It was also supposed to be confidential.

“How do you know about that?” I ask. My voice stays even, but something shifts in my chest.

“The bank shared the results with our compliance division as part of their audit documentation.” He says it casually, like it’s obvious. “Your name wasn’t attached, but the methodology was distinctive. The pattern recognition alone told me it was you.”

I process this. It’s not impossible—banks do share audit results, and my approach to that simulation was unique enough that someone who knew what to look for could trace it back. Still. The specificity of his knowledge makes me more alert.

“You’ve done your research,” I say.

“I prefer to know who I’m working with before I ask them for anything.” He leans back in his chair. “Your company has a strong reputation in the private sector. Your personal work—the freelance projects and the independent assessments—that’s what caught my attention.”

I say nothing. He’s circling something, and I want to see where he lands before I commit.

Ethan tilts his head slightly. “You have a mind for systems, Davina. Not just the technical architecture, but the logic underneath. The way information moves, the way access is structured, the way vulnerabilities hide in plain sight.”

It’s a precise observation, uncomfortably precise.

“I’m not sure where you’re going with this,” I say carefully.

He smiles again, still measured. “I’m going somewhere that requires exactly your skill set. A compliance partnership between federal agencies and private tech firms. The work is sensitive, well compensated, and entirely legal. It’s also complex in a way that most consultants can’t handle.”

He pauses, letting the words settle.

“I need someone who can think like an intruder without being one. Someone who understands systems well enough to expose their weaknesses without exploiting them.” He meets my eyes. “I need you.”

The directness catches me off guard. Government contracts are usually buried in layers of bureaucracy and vague language. This feels different.

“What’s the scope?” I ask.

“I can’t share the full details until you’re cleared, but I can tell you it involves assessing foreign digital infrastructure tied to financial networks that may be facilitating illegal activity. Money laundering, primarily. The kind of systems that look legitimate on the surface but are designed to hide movement underneath.”

Foreign infrastructure. Money laundering. This is significantly more than a compliance audit.

“And you want me to break into these systems.”

“I want you to assess them. What you find, how you find it—that’s your expertise. I’m just providing the authorization.”

I study him for a moment. His expression is open, his posture relaxed. He doesn’t seem like someone who’s trying to manipulate me. But he also doesn’t seem like someone who wandered into my office by accident.

“Why me?” I ask. “There are bigger firms with more resources and more experience with government work.”

“Bigger firms have bigger oversight. More eyes means more chances for information to leak.” He leans forward. “I need someone who can work independently, think creatively, and deliver results without needing a committee to approve every decision. That’s you.”

It’s flattering. I’m aware of that even as I feel the pull of interest. The problem sounds genuine, and the way he describes my abilities suggests he actually understands what I do, which is rare enough to be notable.

Except there’s something underneath his calm professionalism that I can’t quite read. Not danger, exactly. Just… weight. Like there’s more to this than he’s saying.