The notification sound pierced through six different time zones simultaneously: "Marcus Okonkwo has started the meeting."
Sophie Chen adjusted her ring light in her Toronto home office, ensuring the early morning sun didn't create shadows across her face. On her screen, five rectangles began filling with familiar faces, each in their own carefully curated backgrounds. These monthly board meetings of ChainLink Solutions had become routine over the past two years, but today's agenda was anything but ordinary.
"Good morning, good afternoon, good evening to all," Marcus's rich baritone filled their headphones. His Lagos office gleamed behind him, all white walls and minimalist African art. At forty-two, he had the kind of presence that translated even through pixels and bandwidth. "Before we begin with the quarterly reports, I want to address the elephant in the room. Project Nemesis."
Sophie noticed Priya Mehta's jaw tighten in her Singapore feed. The Chief Technology Officer had been against the project from the start. Her apartment, visible behind her, was sparse and functional, much like Priya herself—every object serving a purpose, nothing superfluous.
"Marcus, surely we should review the financials first," James Whitmore interjected from London. The CFO sat in what appeared to be a study from a Victorian novel—leather-bound books, dark wood paneling, a portrait of someone's austere ancestor gazing down disapprovingly. But Sophie had noticed something over the months: those books never moved, never changed position. Props, perhaps, or a virtual background made to look real.
"The financials can wait, James." Marcus's tone brooked no argument. "Project Nemesis will revolutionize how we think about blockchain verification. Priya has done extraordinary work on the initial framework."
"You mean the framework I designed while you were playing golf with investors," Priya muttered, forgetting to mute herself.
Ana Santos laughed, a tinkling sound from São Paulo. Her background showed a sleek high-rise view of the city, though it was currently dark there, the lights twinkling like scattered diamonds. "Now, now, let's keep things professional. Marcus, darling, why don't you share your screen and show us these revolutionary numbers?"
The endearment wasn't lost on anyone. Sophie made a mental note, as she always did. In her years as a corporate lawyer, she'd learned that the small details often revealed the larger picture.
Dmitri Volkov remained silent from Dubai, his face partially shadowed despite the blazing sun visible through his floor-to-ceiling windows. The Russian investor had a habit of listening more than speaking, gathering information like a spider in its web.
"Actually," Thabo Ndlovu spoke up from Cape Town, his voice careful and measured, "I've been reviewing the operational requirements for Nemesis, and there are some concerns about the server locations. Some of these countries have... questionable regulatory frameworks."
Marcus's face darkened momentarily before resuming his trademark smile. "Thabo, my friend, sometimes we must be pioneers. Columbus didn't ask for permission to discover the New World."
"Columbus was a colonizer and a murderer," Priya said flatly.
"Perhaps an unfortunate analogy," Marcus conceded, reaching for his coffee mug—a gaudy golden thing with 'World's Best CEO' emblazoned on it. A gift from Ana, Sophie remembered. "But my point stands. Innovation requires risk."
He took a long sip of coffee, then began sharing his screen. Spreadsheets filled with cryptocurrency valuations and projection models appeared. "As you can see, our Q3 performance exceeded expectations by thirty-seven percent. This is largely due to our expansion into the Southeast Asian markets, which Priya spearheaded—"
Marcus stopped mid-sentence. His hand went to his throat.
"Marcus?" Ana leaned forward, concern creasing her carefully made-up face.
The CEO's breathing became labored. The coffee mug slipped from his hand, spilling across his pristine white desk. His eyes widened with what looked like recognition, then fear.
"Someone call an ambulance!" Sophie shouted, already reaching for her phone.
"Which emergency service?" Dmitri asked with unsettling calm. "He's in Lagos. None of us can—"
Marcus clutched his chest, gasping. His face contorted in pain before he slumped forward, his forehead hitting the desk with a dull thud that seemed to echo across six different continents.
"Marcus!" Ana screamed.
"Is he breathing?" James demanded, his usual composure cracking. "Can anyone see if he's breathing?"
They watched, helpless, as Marcus remained motionless. The only movement on his screen was the coffee spreading across the white desk like a dark stain on snow.
"I'm calling Lagos emergency services," Thabo said, his fingers flying across his phone. "But it will take them at least twenty minutes to reach his house. He lives in Victoria Island, the traffic..."
"Should we end the call?" Priya asked, her voice unusually small.
"No," Sophie said firmly. Something in her lawyer's instincts had kicked in. "We need to stay on. We're witnesses. This could be evidence."
"Evidence of what?" James asked sharply. "The man had a heart attack. He's been under enormous stress with this Nemesis project—"
"Men of forty-two don't typically drop dead from stress," Dmitri observed. "Not without underlying conditions."
"You seem remarkably composed about our CEO dying," Ana snapped at him, tears streaming down her face, her mascara running in dark rivers.
"Hysteria won't resurrect him," Dmitri replied coolly.
Sophie studied each face on her screen, a habit from years of reading juries and witnesses. Ana's grief seemed genuine, but there was something else there—guilt? Fear? James kept dabbing at his forehead with a handkerchief, sweating despite the cool London morning. Priya stared at Marcus's still form with an expression Sophie couldn't quite read. Thabo was still on his phone, speaking rapidly in what sounded like Yoruba. And Dmitri... Dmitri was watching everyone else, just as Sophie was.
"We need to preserve everything," Sophie said, taking charge. "Everyone take screenshots. Record if you can. When the authorities investigate—"
"Investigate?" James interrupted. "What are you suggesting?"
"I'm not suggesting anything. But a healthy man just died during a board meeting discussing a controversial project worth millions. The authorities will want to know everything."
"You think someone..." Ana couldn't finish the sentence.
"I think we need to be very careful about what we say and do next," Sophie replied. "We're all on camera. Everything is being recorded."
A silence fell over the group, broken only by the distant sound of sirens from Marcus's feed. But they were still far away, too far.
"I can see his house staff in the reflection of that picture frame," Thabo said suddenly, pointing to his screen. "They're trying to break down his office door. He must have locked it."
Indeed, in the glass of a framed photograph on Marcus's shelf—a picture of him shaking hands with some dignitary—they could make out the distorted reflections of people pounding on a door.
"Why would he lock his door for a virtual meeting?" Priya asked.
"Privacy," James suggested. "These meetings involve sensitive information."
"Or he was expecting something," Dmitri added ominously.
Sophie pulled up another window on her computer, quickly searching for information. "Did Marcus have any health conditions anyone knew about? Allergies? Heart problems?"
"He was healthy as a horse," Ana said, wiping her eyes. "He just had his annual physical last month. He was bragging about his perfect cholesterol levels."
"Then this is suspicious," Sophie stated flatly.
"You can't be serious," James protested. "You're suggesting one of us—"
"I'm not suggesting anything yet. But look at the facts. A healthy man dies suddenly after drinking coffee during a virtual meeting about a project that several of you opposed."
"Several of us?" Priya's voice was sharp. "You were against it too, Sophie. You said it posed legal risks."
"Legal risks are different from murder," Sophie replied calmly.
"Murder?" Ana gasped. "How could anyone murder him through a computer screen?"
"The coffee," Dmitri said quietly. "He drank the coffee, then died. Classic poisoning symptoms—difficulty breathing, chest pain, sudden collapse."
"But we all saw him pour it from his machine," James argued. "That elaborate Italian thing he's always showing off. No one else was in the room."
Sophie minimized the meeting window and pulled up her notes from previous meetings. She always kept detailed records—a lawyer's habit that had served her well. "Actually, that's not entirely true. Thabo, didn't you mention you were sending Marcus some special coffee beans from Cape Town? A thank you gift?"
Thabo's face went ashen. "Yes, but that was weeks ago. And I didn't—they were just normal beans from a local roaster. Expensive, yes, but not poisoned!"
"Who else had access to his office?" Sophie continued, her mind working like the mechanism of a Swiss watch, each piece clicking into place.
"His housekeeper, Adaeze, she's worked for him for years," Ana said quickly. "She adores him. And his assistant, Kemi, but she's on maternity leave."
"Anyone else been to his house recently?" Sophie pressed.
There was an uncomfortable pause.
"I was there last week," Ana admitted. "For a marketing strategy session."
"At his house?" Priya's tone was acidic. "How cozy."
"We're in the same time zone. It made sense to meet in person when possible," Ana defended herself, but her cheeks flushed.
"I visited last month," James added reluctantly. "To review the books. Some discrepancies needed explaining in person."
"Discrepancies?" Dmitri leaned forward, his interest piqued.
James adjusted his collar nervously. "Minor accounting errors. Nothing substantial. All resolved now."
Sophie noticed his eyes dart to the left—a classic tell of deception. She made another mental note.
"The door's been broken down," Thabo announced. On Marcus's screen, they could see movement, people rushing into the room. Someone in a uniform bent over Marcus, checking for a pulse, then shaking their head.
"He's dead," Thabo confirmed unnecessarily.
"We should disconnect," James said quickly. "Out of respect."
"No," Sophie insisted. "We need to figure this out. If this was murder, one of us might be next. Or one of us is a killer."
"That's absurd," James sputtered.
"Is it? Let's think about this logically, like Hercule Poirot would," Sophie said, her voice taking on the measured cadence of a prosecutor. "Who had motive?"
"We all did, in one way or another," Dmitri said with brutal honesty. "Marcus was brilliant but ruthless. He made enemies."
"Speak for yourself," Ana protested.
"Fine, I'll start," Priya said, surprising everyone with her candor. "I hated him. He took credit for my work constantly. Project Nemesis was my baby, my innovation, and he was going to present it to the world as his own. But I didn't kill him. I was planning to quit and start my own company. Why would I kill him when I could just leave and take my knowledge with me?"
"Because he would have sued you into oblivion," James pointed out. "The non-compete clause in our contracts is ironclad."
"You would know about legal troubles, wouldn't you, James?" Dmitri's voice was silky with threat. "Those 'minor accounting errors'—they weren't so minor, were they?"
James's face went from red to white. "I don't know what you're implying—"
"I'm implying that two million dollars went missing from our development fund and mysteriously reappeared days before the audit. Cryptocurrency is traceable, my friend, if you know where to look."
"You've been spying on the company finances?" Sophie asked Dmitri.
"I protect my investments. And speaking of protection, Marcus recently increased his life insurance policy. The company is the beneficiary. Ten million dollars."
"How do you know that?" Ana demanded.
"As I said, I protect my investments. I have sources."
Sophie's mind raced. Each revelation added another layer to the puzzle. "Ana, you and Marcus were having an affair, weren't you?"
Ana's silence was confirmation enough.
"But it was ending," Sophie continued, reading the woman's face. "He was pulling away. Project Nemesis was consuming him. Or was there someone else?"
"There's always someone else with men like Marcus," Ana said bitterly. "But I didn't care anymore. I had my own plans."
"What kind of plans?" Thabo asked quietly.
"I've been approached by ByteDance. They want me to head their South American cryptocurrency division. I was going to tell Marcus after this meeting."
"That's another violation of the non-compete," James pointed out.
"Not if the company dissolved," Ana replied. "And with Marcus dead..."
"The company won't dissolve," Dmitri said. "The board will elect a new CEO. The work continues."
"Who would benefit most from Marcus's death?" Sophie asked, returning to the fundamental question.
"All of us, in different ways," Thabo said softly. "I knew about the illegal server farms. Marcus was using them to mine cryptocurrency off the books. I kept quiet because he threatened my family back in Nigeria. With him gone..."
"You're free," Sophie finished. "We all are, in a way. But freedom isn't always motive for murder."
She studied each face again, looking for the tell-tale signs of guilt. In her experience, killers often revealed themselves in small ways—a twitch, a pause, an overexplanation.
"Let's approach this differently," she said. "How was he poisoned? We all saw him pour his coffee from his machine. No one else was in the room."
"The beans," James said immediately. "If Thabo sent poisoned beans—"
"I didn't!" Thabo protested. "And even if someone tampered with them, how would they know Marcus would drink that specific coffee at this specific time?"
"Marcus always drank coffee during morning meetings," Priya observed. "It was a ritual. He was obsessive about his routines."
"But the timing," Sophie mused. "The poison acted so quickly. That suggests something fast-acting, taken very recently. Within minutes."
"Could someone have accessed his machine earlier?" Ana asked. "Planted something that would dissolve into the hot water?"
"His office door was locked," Dmitri reminded them. "And look at his desk—everything is perfectly arranged. Marcus would have noticed if anything was disturbed."
Sophie expanded Marcus's video feed, examining every detail of his office. The spilled coffee had stopped spreading, forming a dark pool on the white surface. The golden mug lay on its side. And there, barely visible, was something else.
"Can everyone see his screen? The computer monitor behind him?" she asked.
They all leaned forward, squinting at their screens.
"There's a reflection," Priya said slowly. "In the black border of his monitor."
Sophie took a screenshot and enhanced it. The reflection showed Marcus's office from a different angle. And in that reflection, something crucial was visible.
"There's a second coffee mug," she announced. "On the shelf behind him. Also golden."
"So?" James asked impatiently.
"So why would he have two identical mugs?" Sophie asked. "Unless..."
"Unless someone switched them," Ana finished, her voice barely a whisper.
"But when? How? We've been on this call the entire time," Thabo protested.
Sophie rewound her recording of the meeting, watching carefully. "No, wait. Marcus joined the call two minutes late. He apologized, said he was getting his coffee. But his coffee was already on his desk when his video turned on."
"He could have gotten it before starting his computer," James suggested.
"Or someone else put it there," Sophie said. "Someone who was already in the room. Someone who left just before the meeting started."
"But his door was locked," Dmitri repeated.
"From the inside, yes. But there are two doors to that office. I've been there," Ana said suddenly. "There's the main door and a side door that connects to his private bathroom. Someone could have been hiding there."
"Who else has been to his house recently?" Sophie asked urgently. "Think. This is important."
"I told you, I was there last week," Ana said.
"And I was there last month," James added.
"Anyone else?"
There was a pause, then Priya spoke quietly. "I was there yesterday."
Everyone turned to stare at her rectangle on the screen.
"You were in Lagos yesterday?" Sophie asked carefully.
"I flew in for a conference. Blockchain Africa. Marcus didn't know I was coming. I wanted to confront him about Project Nemesis in person, away from recordings and digital trails."
"And did you?" Dmitri asked.
"No. I went to his house, but I lost my nerve. I saw his car in the driveway and turned around. I flew back to Singapore last night."
"Can you prove that?" James demanded.
"My boarding pass, hotel receipt, conference registration. It's all documented."
Sophie studied Priya's face. She seemed to be telling the truth, but something was off. "You said you saw his car. Did you see anything else? Anyone else?"
Priya hesitated. "There was another car. A rental. I noticed because it had a ByteDance sticker in the window."
All eyes turned to Ana.
"That wasn't me!" Ana protested. "I haven't been to Lagos in a week!"
"ByteDance," Sophie repeated thoughtfully. "Dmitri, you mentioned ByteDance was recruiting Ana. Who else have they been talking to?"
Dmitri's expression shifted almost imperceptibly. "How would I know?"
"Because you know everything about everyone in this company," Sophie said. "It's your job to know. So who else?"
"They approached me last month," Dmitri admitted. "They want to buy out my stake in ChainLink. I refused."
"Did Marcus know?"
"Of course. I tell him everything. Told him everything," he corrected himself.
"And how did he react?"
"He was furious. Accused me of betrayal. Said he'd destroy me if I sold to a competitor."
"That's motive," James said quickly. "Clear motive."
"Except I didn't sell," Dmitri pointed out. "And killing Marcus wouldn't change that."
Sophie noticed something in Thabo's expression. "Thabo, you know something. What is it?"
The operations director looked uncomfortable. "It's just... when I called emergency services, I also called Marcus's house directly. Adaeze answered. She said something odd."
"What?" Sophie pressed.
"She said there was a delivery this morning. Coffee beans. Premium beans from Jamaica. Blue Mountain. Marcus was excited about them."
"I didn't send any beans from Jamaica," Thabo said quickly.
"Then who did?" Sophie asked.
They all looked at each other through their screens, suspicion clouding every face.
"There's something else," Sophie said, her voice taking on a harder edge. "We're all assuming the coffee was poisoned. But what if it wasn't the coffee itself? What if it was something on the mug?"
"On the mug?" Ana repeated.
"The golden mug. 'World's Best CEO.' A gift. From you, Ana."
"Months ago! And he's used it hundreds of times since then!"
"Yes, but what if someone coated it with something recently? Something that would only activate with hot liquid? Someone who had access to his office in the last day or two?"
"That's insane," James protested. "We're not in an Agatha Christie novel. This is real life."
"Real life where our CEO just died under suspicious circumstances," Sophie reminded him. "And one of us might be responsible."
She pulled up another window, searching quickly. "Batrachotoxin. A poison that can be absorbed through the skin or ingested. Causes cardiac arrest within minutes. Almost impossible to detect without specific testing."
"Where would someone even get such a thing?" Priya asked.
"It's derived from certain frogs," Sophie read. "Found in Central and South America."
Everyone looked at Ana.
"This is insane!" Ana shouted. "I didn't poison anyone! I loved Marcus!"
"You loved him, but he was leaving you," Sophie said gently. "And you had access. You knew about the ByteDance offer. You knew if Marcus died, you could take the deal without legal repercussions."
"So could any of us!" Ana protested.
"True," Sophie conceded. "But not all of us were in his house recently. Not all of us had access to South American contacts. And not all of us gave him that specific mug."
"You're building a case on circumstances," Dmitri observed. "A good lawyer would tear it apart."
"Perhaps," Sophie agreed. "But there's one more thing. Ana, you said you were going to tell Marcus about ByteDance after this meeting. But ByteDance already has a sticker in a rental car in Lagos. They're already moving into the African market. They didn't need you to head South American operations. They needed you for something else."
Ana's face had gone pale. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"I think you do. You weren't just taking a job with them. You were selling them something. Something valuable. Something Marcus would kill you for if he found out."
"Project Nemesis," Priya breathed. "You were going to sell them Project Nemesis."
"The code is encrypted," James protested. "Only Marcus and Priya have full access."
"And the CFO," Sophie pointed out. "Who handles all the digital assets. James, you had access too."
"But I didn't—"
"No, you were too busy covering up your embezzlement," Sophie continued. "Two million dollars. Gambling debts?"
James's shoulders slumped. "Cryptocurrency trading. I thought I could make it back. I did make it back."
"By selling information?" Sophie pressed.
"No! I borrowed from my brother-in-law. Marcus never knew."
"He knew," Thabo said quietly. "He knew everything. He had backdoors into all our computers. Our emails, our files. He was paranoid about corporate espionage."
"Then he knew about ByteDance," Sophie said. "He knew someone was planning to betray him. That's why he pushed Project Nemesis onto today's agenda. He was forcing the traitor's hand."
"Or he was the one planning something," Dmitri suggested. "What if Marcus wasn't the intended victim? What if he was planning to poison one of us and it backfired?"
"That's ridiculous," Ana said, but her voice wavered.
Sophie noticed something else in Marcus's office. The photograph where they'd seen the reflection earlier—it had been moved slightly when the staff broke in. Now she could see what it was a picture of: Marcus with the Nigerian Minister of Technology, taken at a recent conference.
"Wait," she said. "Thabo, you said you called Marcus's house and spoke to Adaeze. What else did she say?"
"Just about the coffee delivery. And that Marcus had a visitor this morning, very early. Before sunrise."
"A visitor? Who?"
"She didn't see. Marcus let them in himself through the side entrance. The one that leads to his office bathroom."
Sophie's mind raced through the possibilities. "Someone he trusted. Someone he'd let in secretly. Someone who knew about that side entrance."
"We all knew about it," Ana said defensively. "Anyone who'd been to his house knew."
"But not everyone had a key," Sophie said slowly. "Marcus was paranoid, you said so yourself, Thabo. He wouldn't just let anyone in at dawn. Unless..."
She expanded the screenshot of Marcus's desk again, looking at every detail. There, partially hidden under some papers, was an envelope. The corner of a logo was visible.
"Can anyone enhance that envelope?" she asked.
Priya's fingers flew across her keyboard. "I can clean up the image... there. It's from the Nigerian Technology Ministry."
"Official government correspondence," Sophie mused. "Delivered by hand, early this morning. By someone from the ministry. Someone he trusted."
"Or someone posing as someone from the ministry," Dmitri suggested.
Sophie thought back through everything they'd discussed. "The side entrance. The switched mugs. The timing. The poison. It all points to someone with intimate knowledge of Marcus's routines, access to his home, and a pressing motive to act now, today, during this specific meeting."
"You're going in circles," James complained. "That could be any of us."
"No," Sophie said firmly. "It's someone who knew about all our secrets. The embezzlement, the affair, the ByteDance offers, Project Nemesis. Someone who's been watching, listening, gathering information. Someone who wanted Marcus dead but needed it to happen when we were all watching, all suspects."
She paused, studying each face one more time.
"Thabo," she said quietly. "It was you."
The operations director's expression didn't change. "That's a serious accusation."
"You had access to everything. Marcus trusted you completely. You're the only one he would have let into his house at dawn without question. You knew about the illegal server farms, the backdoors into our computers, everyone's secrets."
"But I was being blackmailed," Thabo protested. "Marcus threatened my family."
"No," Sophie said. "He threatened to expose your family. There's a difference. Your brother runs one of those illegal server farms, doesn't he? In Ghana. Marcus didn't threaten to hurt them—he threatened to report them to the authorities."
Thabo's composure finally cracked. "You don't understand. My brother would go to prison. My whole family would be ruined."
"So you decided to ruin Marcus instead," Sophie continued. "You sent the Jamaican coffee beans, knowing he'd be excited to try them. You arrived early this morning with fake government documents, something that required his urgent attention. While he was distracted, you switched the mugs—the poisoned one for the regular one."
"This is speculation," Thabo said, but his voice had lost its strength.
"The poison was in the coating inside the mug, activated by hot liquid. You knew he always drank coffee during morning meetings. You knew we'd all be watching when he died. We'd all be suspects."
"Batrachotoxin," Priya said suddenly. "Thabo, you studied chemistry before switching to operations. You told me once, at a company dinner."
"And your brother," Ana added, her voice growing stronger. "He doesn't just run server farms. He has connections to wildlife trafficking. Exotic animals, including poison dart frogs."
Thabo's face had gone gray. "You can't prove any of this."
"The Lagos police will check the visitor logs from the security cameras," Sophie said. "They'll find the fake government envelope. They'll test the mug for poison residue. They'll trace the Jamaican coffee order."
"And we have this recording," Dmitri added. "Everything we've discussed, every revelation."
On the screen, they could see the Lagos police arriving at Marcus's office. An officer approached the computer, peering at the screen where their faces were still displayed in their grid of rectangles.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the officer said in accented English, "I'm Inspector Adeyemi. I understand you were all on this call when Mr. Okonkwo collapsed?"
"Yes, Inspector," Sophie said, taking charge once more. "And we have information that might be relevant to your investigation."
She looked directly at Thabo's rectangle. His face was a mask of defeat.
"I didn't mean for it to happen this way," Thabo said quietly. "I just wanted to be free. We all did."
"But you were the only one willing to kill for it," Sophie replied.
Inspector Adeyemi leaned closer to the camera. "Sir, are you confessing to murder?"
Thabo looked at each of his colleagues in turn—people he'd worked with for years, people whose secrets he'd kept and whose trust he'd betrayed. "I want a lawyer," he said finally.
"That's probably wise," Sophie said, not unkindly. Despite everything, she felt a pang of sympathy. They had all been victims of Marcus's manipulation in their own ways. But only one had chosen murder as the solution.
The inspector was speaking rapidly to his colleagues in Yoruba, gesturing at the screen. More officers appeared in Marcus's office, beginning to photograph everything, bag evidence, dust for fingerprints.
"We'll need statements from all of you," Inspector Adeyemi said. "Please remain available. Do not disconnect from this call until my cybercrime unit can secure the recording."
They sat in silence, six rectangles on a screen, each alone in their own space yet bound together by what they'd witnessed. The company they'd built together was effectively dead, killed as surely as its CEO. Project Nemesis would never see the light of day. Their secrets were exposed, their futures uncertain.
Sophie looked at the clock. The entire investigation had taken less than an hour. In that time, they'd unraveled a murder, exposed embezzlement, affairs, corporate espionage, and blackmail. The tidy virtual rectangles that had contained their professional lives had been shattered, revealing the messy, complicated humans behind them.
"What happens now?" Ana asked, breaking the silence.
"Now we face the consequences," James said heavily. "All of us."
"The company?" Priya asked.
"Will probably be liquidated," Dmitri said matter-of-factly. "The investors will want to cut their losses. The scandal will destroy any remaining value."
"And us?" Ana pressed.
Sophie considered the question. James would likely face charges for embezzlement. Thabo would go to trial for murder. The rest of them would be tainted by association, their careers in cryptocurrency possibly over.
"We move on," she said finally. "We learn from this. We try to do better."
On Marcus's screen, the investigators continued their work, occasionally glancing at the computer where the board of ChainLink Solutions remained in session—their last meeting, though none of them had the authority to officially end it.
The golden mug had been bagged as evidence, its gaudy proclamation of "World's Best CEO" now a piece of irony in a murder case. The spilled coffee had been sampled, the desk photographed from every angle.
Sophie thought about Marcus, brilliant and ruthless, dead at forty-two. He had built an empire on cryptocurrency, that most virtual of currencies, and had died during a virtual meeting, killed by someone he'd trusted. There was a poetic justice to it, perhaps, but also a tragedy. All that talent, all that potential, destroyed by greed and fear and the very human desire for freedom.
"Inspector," she called out. "Is there anything else you need from us immediately?"
The inspector looked up from his notebook. "Just one thing, Ms...?"
"Chen. Sophie Chen."
"Ms. Chen, how did you know? How did you piece it together so quickly?"
Sophie considered the question. "I've spent my career reading people, Inspector. In a virtual world, we think we can hide behind screens and careful camera angles. But the truth always reveals itself. In the details, the inconsistencies, the things people say and don't say. Marcus thought he could control us all through technology and fear. But in the end, the very technology he used to monitor us became the witness to his murder."
"Like something from a detective novel," the inspector mused.
"Life often imitates art," Sophie replied. "Though rarely so neatly."
The inspector nodded and returned to his work. The six board members remained on their call, none willing to be the first to leave, all aware that when they finally disconnected, a chapter of their lives would close forever.
Outside Sophie's Toronto window, the sun climbed higher, warming the city as it woke to a new day. In Singapore, Priya watched the sunset paint the sky in shades of pink and gold. In London, James sat in his fake study with his fake books, contemplating his very real problems. In São Paulo, Ana had stopped crying, already mentally composing her resignation letter. In Dubai, Dmitri calculated the financial implications, ever the investor. And in Cape Town, Thabo waited for the knock on his door that would surely come.
The last login had become the final logout, not just for Marcus, but for all of them. ChainLink Solutions, built on the promise of decentralized trust, had been destroyed by the oldest of human failings: betrayal, greed, and murder.
Sophie finally spoke what they were all thinking: "I motion to adjourn this meeting permanently."
"Seconded," Priya said quickly.
"All in favor?" Sophie asked, following protocol even now.
One by one, they raised their hands—a final unanimous vote for a board that had never agreed on anything else.
"Motion carried," Sophie said. "This meeting is adjourned."
But nobody moved to disconnect. They sat in their separate spaces, connected by fiber optic cables and wireless signals, witnesses to a murder and participants in its solving. The technology that had brought them together now held them in place, none willing to sever the connection that might be their last.
Inspector Adeyemi looked up again. "You can disconnect now. We have everything we need."
Still, they hesitated.
"Goodbye, everyone," Sophie said finally, reaching for her mouse. "Take care of yourselves."
"Sophie," Thabo called out suddenly. "I'm sorry. For everything."
She paused, studying his face one last time. "I know, Thabo. We all are."
Then she clicked 'Leave Meeting,' and Thabo's face disappeared, followed by the others, one by one, until only the ghost of Marcus's empty office remained on her screen, investigators moving through it like figures in a silent film.
Sophie closed her laptop and sat in the morning light of her Toronto home, thinking about virtual connections and real consequences, about the price of ambition and the cost of freedom. Somewhere in Lagos, a man was dead. Somewhere in Cape Town, another man waited for justice. And scattered across the globe, four others contemplated the ruins of what they'd built together.
The age of digital enterprise had promised to bring the world closer together, to eliminate the barriers of distance and time. But it couldn't eliminate the fundamental human capacities for greed, jealousy, and murder. Those, it seemed, were bugs in the system that no amount of coding could fix.
Sophie stood, stretched, and went to make herself a cup of tea—checking the mug carefully first, a habit she suspected would stay with her for a long time. Outside, Toronto went about its morning routine, oblivious to the drama that had just played out across six time zones.
She thought about Marcus's last words before he died: "Innovation requires risk." He had been right, though not in the way he'd meant. The greatest risk in any enterprise wasn't technological or financial—it was human. It always had been, from the first partnership to the latest IPO.
As she sipped her tea, Sophie's phone buzzed with messages from reporters who had somehow already heard about the CEO's death during a board meeting. She ignored them all. Let someone else tell that story. She had been a witness, an accidental detective, but she had no desire to be a narrator of tragedy.
Instead, she opened a new document on her computer and began typing:
"Lessons Learned from ChainLink Solutions:
1. Trust, once broken, cannot be restored by technology.
2. Transparency is not the same as truth.
3. Virtual connections are still human connections, with all the complications that entails.
4. The oldest motives—greed, fear, love, revenge—persist in the newest mediums.
5. Every login might be your last."
She paused, then added one more:
"6. In the end, we are all alone in our rectangles, performing for cameras, hoping someone sees the truth of who we are."
Sophie saved the document and closed it. Somewhere, in five different cities, her former colleagues were likely writing their own versions of events, their own lessons learned. Each story would be different, filtered through the lens of individual experience and guilt and regret.
But the facts would remain: Marcus Okonkwo was dead, killed by someone he trusted, witnessed by everyone and no one simultaneously. The perfect virtual crime, except for one flaw—the murderer had underestimated the power of collective observation, the way six minds working through screens could piece together a puzzle that might have remained unsolved in the physical world.
Sophie's phone rang. It was the Inspector Adeyemi.
"Ms. Chen, I wanted to thank you. Your deductions were remarkably accurate. We found everything as you suggested—the poisoned mug, the fake documents, even a partial fingerprint on the side door."
"I'm glad I could help, Inspector."
"Tell me, have you ever considered a career in law enforcement? We could use someone with your skills."
Sophie almost laughed. "Thank you, but I think I'll stick to corporate law. It's usually less dramatic."
"Usually," the inspector agreed. "Though perhaps not in the cryptocurrency world."
After they hung up, Sophie sat in the quiet of her home office, contemplating her future. ChainLink Solutions was dead, but the technology it had pioneered would live on in other companies, other ventures. And wherever there was innovation and money and human ambition, there would be the potential for crimes both virtual and real.
Perhaps she would specialize in cryptocurrency law, helping companies navigate the moral and legal complexities of this new frontier. Or perhaps she would leave it all behind, return to simpler practice, wills and estates and contracts that didn't involve murder.
Her computer pinged with an email notification. Despite her better judgment, she opened it.
It was from Priya: "Starting a new company. Clean slate, ethical practices, transparent governance. Interested in being our legal counsel?"
Sophie stared at the message. The cycle was beginning again already. New company, new promises, new potential for both success and disaster.
She typed back: "Ask me in six months. If you're still alive and no one's been murdered, we'll talk."
Priya's response was immediate: "Fair enough. And Sophie? Thank you. For seeing the truth when the rest of us were blind."
Sophie closed the email and shut down her computer. The truth, she reflected, was that they had all been blind in different ways. Blind to Marcus's manipulations, blind to each other's struggles, blind to the danger growing in their midst.
But in the end, when it mattered most, they had seen enough. Together, apart, through screens and across continents, they had solved a murder that might have otherwise been dismissed as a heart attack.
It wasn't justice, exactly—Marcus was still dead, Thabo's life was ruined, the company was destroyed. But it was truth, and in a world of virtual reality and digital deception, sometimes truth was all you could hope for.
Sophie stood and walked to her window, looking out at the Toronto skyline. Somewhere in those towers, other boards were meeting, other CEOs were making decisions, other secrets were being kept and revealed.
The digital age had changed everything and nothing. The methods were new, but the motives were ancient. And somewhere, in a virtual meeting room or a physical boardroom, the next corporate drama was already beginning to unfold.
But that was someone else's story to solve. Sophie Chen had had enough of murder and cryptocurrency for one lifetime. Or at least for one morning.
She made another cup of tea, using a different mug this time, and settled in to review a simple contract dispute. No poison, no international intrigue, no hidden agendas. Just plain, boring legal work.
It was, she thought, exactly what she needed.
As she worked, she couldn't help but think one last time about Marcus Okonkwo, dead at forty-two, killed by ambition and betrayal and a poisoned golden mug. He had wanted to be the world's best CEO, had even drunk from a mug proclaiming it.
In the end, he had been simply human—flawed, complex, ultimately mortal.
They all were, no matter how many screens and miles separated them.
And perhaps, Sophie thought, that was the most important lesson of all.