In the office room, behind dual monitors, and wearing an awkward headset that made his ears hot and itchy, Michael Bryce struggled to look engaged. His eyes panned across the screens, one representing the ebb and flow of the financial markets, the other a montage of bored-looking men - and Surya, of course, the CFO. To his left, the door was ajar, and he caught glimpses of Agata, the cleaner, swiftly working her way through the house.
Sometimes, between messages and charts, he would take comfort in this - Agata commanding spray bottles, microfibre cloths - and toward the end of the day, the vacuum, its hum muffled by the door she’d close with a polite, “Apologies, Mr. Bryce.”
He’d wonder about her life. Did she have kids? A husband? What did she do in the hours and days between her weekly visits? She was attractive, he thought, in a sharp, no-nonsense sort of way.
Every Friday, Madelaine, Michael's wife, left an envelope for Agata on the kitchen counter. It annoyed Madelaine because she was tasked with getting the cash from the ATM, and she had nagged Michael to ask Agata about a bank transfer. He’d dutifully suggested it, but Agata had laughed and said, "Oh, cash is king, yes?” He shrugged and said, "Okay." Madelaine wasn't happy, but when was she ever? He remembered her face this morning, when he’d reached out tentatively, to touch her thigh. She'd frozen and shot him a sour look before casting off the duvet and striding in haste to shower.
Watching Agata now, behind the screens, he thought “I would fuck her” and smiled, momentarily thrilled at the wrongness, before turning back to the sad, puffy features of the partners.
Agata moved through the house swiftly, her five-foot-two frame clad in practical black jeans and a black t-shirt that had lost its shape. Her dyed red hair was pulled back tightly, revealing rounded cheeks and pale skin. She worked with precision. Each surface was smoothed with long sweeping motions into submission, then roughly buffed to bring out the shine on the polished marble.
When Madelaine swept into the master bedroom, Agata didn't pause in her work. A water spot on the vanity disappeared beneath her cloth.
"Hey, Agata," Madelaine paused at the doorway, adjusting her diamond tennis bracelet. "Can you not clean the mirror on the bedside table?"
Agata's eyes flicked to the mirror in question - another antique piece with too much ornate detail - then back to Madeleine's face. Her expression remained unreadable. "Sure, Madelaine," she replied.
Madelaine, seemingly dissatisfied, added, "And can you make sure to only use the Pink Stuff for the kitchen sink?" Her manicured white fingernails drummed once against the doorframe.
"Yes, Madelaine," Agata said, with a polite smile, as small and efficient as everything else about her.
Madelaine lingered a moment longer, her mouth tightening at the corners, "I'm just off to the shops," she said, swinging her peach leather bag as she turned and exited the room.
In his office, Michael's voice carried through the door as he discussed leverage positions and market strategies. He didn't notice Agata passing by with fresh linens for the guest room.
Agata flicked out the sheet, the waves landing it evenly across the mattress. She pulled it taut, corner by corner, and tucked in the sheet tightly at the edges, her fingers folding the edges into a sharp, clean angles —hospital corners, as they called them.
Bent at the hip, she slipped something from her back pocket and reached it underneath the side table. Blindly, she prepped the small USB drive with a few clicks of a button on the side. The tiny device flashed red, then green, then it blinked to black. She pressed it into a recess, and heard a small click. She smiled a little.
Standing tall, her eyes caught a wrinkle in the bedspread, and she smoothed it away.
That evening, in a private Discord channel named 'DarkPool Whispers VIP', messages flew back and forth, punctuated by a storm of emojis and GIFs. The arrival of the user 'BigRed' set off a fresh wave of excitement.
BigRed: "Crew: This week's target will be $QBDY. Data breach incoming, loading up on deep OTM puts, aiming for the $50 strike price for next month."
BigRed: "You know what to do."
The channel erupted with enthusiasm, members falling over themselves to contribute to the discussion.
GeneH: "For real? What's the deal with Qubit Dynamics?"
Arcl1ght: "Bold call… Stock's sitting at $75.”
CipherWolf: “IV will be insane.”
BigRed refrained from further explanation, letting the members speculate.
Another message from BigRed appeared, this one lacking context: "DarkPool loves you. Refer a friend to get one month free. DM for links"
In the Bryces' guest room, the USB drive silently syphoned its payload while the family slept.