Deadlines & Desires

Ch 4

Lorelai

My apartment was a war zone, a chaotic symphony of half-empty coffee cups, scattered notes, and the scent of desperation mingled with a slightly burnt toaster pastry. If my place were a crime scene—and in some ways, with Kai Archer involved, it definitely felt like one—the chalk outline would definitely feature a silhouette of me, hunched over my laptop like a caffeinated gargoyle, high on coffee and irritation.

Two failed interviews. That's what I was nursing as I tapped away furiously at my keyboard, my fingers dancing over the keys as if mere words could somehow transform my luck with the elusive CEO of Archer Security. Kai Archer—the quintessential slippery businessman. More evasive than a greased pig. Every time I pressed him for answers, he sidestepped my questions like a seasoned matador dodging a charging bull. Seriously, this guy could win Olympic gold in dodging.

"Kai Archer," I muttered to myself, reigning in a smirk that threatened to escape as I muttered his name with the disdain of a middle-schooler forced to clean out the litterbox—something I was fairly certain my 9-year-old self would have done all too happily if it meant saving me from another round of his insufferable, stoic replies. I could almost hear him now: Firm no. Blunt comment. Next question. Such creativity he had!

I leaned back in my chair, taking a moment to appreciate my plight—dark, midnight blue eyes squinting against the pale glow of the screen. This was round three. Tomorrow, I would dive back into the icy depths of Kai's ice fortress of a brain, and I was determined to chip away at the block of granite he was solidly encased in. It was like trying to extract a confession from the Mona Lisa. "Just smile and don't say anything, Lorelai," I said, mockingly mimicking his expressionless face. He could be a billboard for the slogan "Escape with Archer Security: We Hide Everything So You Don't Have To."

With every sip of my coffee—my lifeline, my fuel, the sweetest elixir available to mere mortals—I rifled through the stack of old news reports. Headlines from five years prior swirled in my mind: "Archer Security: The New King of Protection," and "Au Revoir, Safety Concerns"—so where, exactly, did it all go wrong? My relentless Googling and hours spent piecing together Kai's past had turned into an elaborate scavenger hunt, and I was about two coffee cups away from revising my career goals to include "Pursue a Guatemalan Coffee Grower for Clarity on Life Instead."

As a journalist for the New York Times, I was used to collecting pieces of evidence—scandals and lies—like children collecting Pokémon cards. But now, I felt like a particularly bewildered Pikachu, just trying to figure out how to zap the right newsworthy references. In one last fit of frustration, I tossed a pen across the room, the ink clouding up the corner, as if even my stationery was revolting against my lack of progress. I briefly entertained the idea of drafting a strongly worded letter to the universe:

Dear Universe,

Please deliver to me a spy who can tap Kai Archer's phone without him noticing. I'll owe you a coffee...as usual.

Oh, how could I forget! As my trusty espresso machine burbled in the background, I pushed through yet another stack of reports, scanning for any hint of weakness in the fortress that was Archer Security. My relentless sarcasm was a shield I wielded well, but I knew I needed more than wit to break through.

Somewhere, deep in the soul of this investigation, lay the truth I sought, and with every ounce of coffee coursing through me, I would find it. Kai could deny me answers all he wanted, but I had a date with destiny—even if that meant shocking him with a pop culture reference he didn't understand.

After all, in the world of investigative journalism, determination was the name of the game—and I was the star player, ready to ace round three with a caffeine buzz and a side of sass.

So, here I sat, a lean and mean caffeine machine just waiting for a sparkle of inspiration to illuminate the dark corners of a crumbling empire. Tomorrow, I would corner Kai Archer like the formidable force I was, because for every slippery CEO, there was a sharp, caffeinated journalist, determined to uncover the truth.

Now if only I could figure out the best way to ensure he didn't twist himself into a pretzel of avoidance this time...Answers, I decided, wouldn't find themselves. Not without some coffee-fueled determination, a tad of sarcasm, and maybe a particularly obscure Seinfeld reference thrown in for good measure.

I would get Kai Archer to break, even if it was the last damn thing I ever did.

I was on the floor by now, in my study, I couldn't sit on my desk, as both the desk and the chair were cluttered with paper, pens and more paper, so I was sat on the floor, which was more comfortable. It was now exactly 4:47 pm, and I was hyper, high on caffeine, and...well more caffeine.

I sift through heaps of papers scattered across my desk like a tornado hit a library. It's a wonder how I can ever find anything, but then again, desperation has a way of fueling focus. And just as I'm about to churn my coffee cup into a makeshift crystal ball to forecast the disaster that is my next interview, my eyes land on something—an old news report from five years ago, the grainy print barely legible.

I pull it closer, and as I read the headline, it's like a light bulb goes off above my head—dimm, but definitely flickering like my resolve. "Mysterious Hack Leaves Archer Security Vulnerable." A vulnerability in cybersecurity due to the company's negligence? The article details a massive breach that led to sensitive client information being exposed. Who knew? Some backroom deal must have gone terribly wrong, and with every paragraph I devour, it becomes clear I've struck gold. Kai had sidestepped the issue twice in our brief discussions—practically dismissed it like a cat brushing off an errant feather.

Yet, here it is: proof of negligence, potential cover-ups, perhaps even incompetence festering like last week's pizza. Why had they hired Kai, anyway? A company falling apart, and it could be the CEO's negligence that's driving it into the ground. All I need to do is connect the dots, and suddenly, I'm not just Lorelai Forbes, coffee-drinking, pop-culture-drawing, sarcastic wonder girl; I'm a bulldog on a bone, and I won't stop until I've unearthed every last piece of dirt.

My heart races as I scribble furious notes, my pen flying across the page like a caffeinated hummingbird. I can almost see Kai's face when I confront him with this revelation. Will his stoic demeanor finally crack? Will he stumble through answers like a deer caught in headlights? Man, I love the thrill of the chase, especially when brewing up a storm involving someone like him.

With one last heavy sip of coffee, I look up at the wall filled with my meticulously organized chaos: a collage of his past, the bad business moves, testimonies, and hints of scandal like a string board of conspiracy theory with all the missing pins and red yarn painfully absent. And yet, it's enough; I can almost taste victory—a caffeine-infused taste that mixes with excitement.

I glance at the clock again; 5:30 pm...I still have time...I could still race down there, I don't even have to wait till tommorow!

I grabbed the news article, and every bit of information I had written down up until that point, and after, I threw them messily into a book bag, put on the nearest grey jacket, threw on a pair of black sneakers and practically raced to his building, which, suprisingly wasn't that far from my apartment, he has to be there, if he isn't there, I will personally Sherlock Holmes this shit and find him. Kai Archer isn't getting away. Not on my fucking watch.