Page 11 of The Money Shot
Marissa’s eyes darted around before she leaned in, her voice barely a whisper. “I heard a rumor that Langston’s in trouble,” she said, her lips barely moving. The words landed like a stone in my gut. Before I could process it, the door to Mr. Langston’s office opened with a sudden creak, silencing the room.
A woman stepped out, her presence as imposing as the rest of the suits combined. She had dark hair pulled back in a severe bun and eyes that looked like they could cut through steel. Her fitted suit and badge on her hip announced she was not someone to mess with. She cleared her throat, and the sound reverberated through the room.
“I’m Agent Brown with the Securities and Exchange Commission,” she said, scanning the sea of faces. The air thickened, an electric charge crackling in the silence. “We’ll be calling each of you into the conference room for interviews, one at a time. Please remain at your desks until instructed.”
No further explanation. No indication of what we’d done—or what Langston had done—to bring the SEC down on us like this. Agent Brown turned on her heel and strode back into the office, the door clicking shut behind her. The whispers that followed were frantic, everyone glancing at one another, eyes wide with confusion and worry.
Marissa’s elbow caught the edge of her mug, and coffee splattered across her desk. “Oh, for—” she hissed, grabbing tissues and dabbing furiously. I didn’t stay to help. My legs felt stiff as I forced myself to walk back to my desk.
I dropped into my chair; the vinyl creaking beneath me. The glow of my monitor felt cold and impersonal now, the lines of code meaningless against the backdrop of whatever storm was brewing.
Had I done anything that could even remotely come under scrutiny? I ran through every project, every interaction, searching for anything that might put me on their radar. But I didn’t know what they wanted, or what might come next.
I just knew it was bad.
The clock on the wall ticked sluggishly, each minute dragging as if it had to fight for its existence. It was almost six, and I was one of the few people still left in the office. The air felt stifling, laced with a tension so sharp it could slice through bone.
I’d watched people shuffle out of the conference room all afternoon, their faces pale and haunted. Most didn’t even bother to look around—they just grabbed their coats and bags and left, some muttering under their breath, others stiff with silence. A few exchanged quick glances, eyes wide with confusion or masked panic. Were we all about to be canned? What was this, some massive layoff disguised as government interference?
At one point, I went over to Marissa’s desk, leaning in close. “Any idea what’s going on?”
She shook her head, looking frazzled. “No clue, Liam. But whatever it is, it’s serious.”
I hurried back to my desk, mouth dry. Finally, the office door opened again, and Agent Brown strolled out. Her eyes landed on me, sharp and indifferent. “Liam Murphy,” she called out.
My stomach lurched as I stood, legs stiff and unsteady. I took a breath, forcing my feet to move. This was it. Whatever it was. Agent Brown’s dark eyes assessed me as she led the way to the conference room. I kept my expression neutral, though my heart was pounding so hard I thought it might leap out of my chest.
Inside, the conference room was dimly lit, and the air was stale from hours of interrogation. Around the table sat a handful of agents, each one scrutinizing me with the practiced coldness of professionals who’d seen it all. The man in the center, older with salt-and-pepper hair and a crisp navy suit, cleared his throat. “Mr. Murphy, I’m Agent Smith.”
The Matrix reference popped into my head involuntarily, and I bit back the inappropriate urge to smile. I focused on the man’s voice as he continued. “Please take a seat.”
I sat, gripping my hands together under the table to keep them from shaking.
“What is your role and your primary responsibilities at SynergyCoin?” he asked, his eyes boring into mine.
“I’m a junior developer,” I replied. “I mostly work on backend processes, fixing bugs, and supporting the main development team.”
He nodded, barely acknowledging my answer. “Have you received any unusual instructions from your superiors?”
I blinked. “No, not that I know of. I only started here a few weeks ago, fresh out of college.”
Agent Smith’s brow lifted slightly before he covered a yawn with the back of his hand. “Are you familiar with the company’s method of raising capital?”
The question made me pause, the meaning spinning beyond my reach. “Not really. I mean, I’m just a junior developer. Ihaven’t been involved in any discussions about fundraising or capital.”
Another agent, this one younger, with a permanent scowl, leaned forward. “How does the company handle investor funds? Are you aware of any internal communications discussing financial practices or any fundraising activities?”
I looked from one agent to another, my confusion growing with each question. “I don’t know anything about that. My work is on the tech side, coding. I haven’t seen or heard anything about investor funds or capital.”
The agents exchanged glances, their expressions unreadable. They asked a few more questions, each one more opaque than the last, and my answers didn’t change. I didn’t know what they were looking for, and it wasn’t anything I could help them with.
Finally, Agent Smith tapped the table. “Alright, Mr. Murphy. You’re dismissed. If we need anything else, we’ll be in touch.”
I nodded, relief and unease fighting for dominance. I stood, and Agent Brown stepped forward to walk me out. Before I could stop myself, I turned to her. “What’s happening?” I blurted out, my voice lower and more desperate than I intended.
Her eyes flicked to mine, emotionless. She didn’t answer, just pivoted on her heel and called out into the office, “Leroy Malinowski, please come to the conference room.”
The door clicked shut behind me, leaving me in the dim, buzzing office. “What the hell’s going on?” I muttered to myself and forced my feet to move.