Cracking Mr. Codehead (DA Series Book 3)

Chapter 44

Devon's Point of View

The silence of the room felt almost tangible, thick with tension. The hum of technology, the soft clicks of keyboards, the faint drone of far-off conversations—all seemed distant now. My fingers tapped on the edge of the desk rhythmically, almost absentmindedly, as I stared at the empty space in front of me. My mind, however, was sharp, calculating, going over the play I had just set in motion.

Uno Mayhem had only been my guise for a few months, but it was a persona I'd perfected with precision—wildly eccentric, unpredictable, and outright goofy when it suited the task. It was meant to throw people off, confuse them, blur the line between what's real and what's not. No one could ever suspect that underneath that ridiculousness, I was the one pulling the strings.

But here's the truth: I was no joke. I'd been a National Intelligence Officer for years. I had worn many faces, taken on countless disguises, infiltrated organizations, extracted secrets, and destroyed enemies—all without breaking a sweat. Becoming Uno Mayhem had been no different. It was an exercise in mental gymnastics. But once I'd stepped into this role, I knew what needed to be done.

I had to catch the Architect.

The Architect. The ghost in the machine. The man who had worked his way into the highest levels of power, pulling strings from the shadows. I had been tracking him for months, piecing together the scattered bits of information that didn't quite align. The more I watched him, the more I realized that he wasn't who he appeared to be.

And it wasn't just his work on EARTH that raised red flags for me. It was his proximity to Illaria Allard. Asmund.

When I'd first met him, he'd seemed almost... too perfect. He had that eerily calm, collected nature that made everyone trust him. But I knew better. No one who moves like a shadow, so quietly, so deliberately, is as innocent as they seem.

It started with the subtle things—those small, seemingly insignificant moments that didn't quite sit right with me. The way he would watch Illaria a little too closely, as though trying to read her every move. The way he would dismiss certain security measures, almost like he knew more about the project than anyone else. The flicker in his eyes whenever the conversation turned to SkyGod.

And then there were the times when I'd catch him avoiding my gaze just a little too long when we talked about the artificial disasters, as if he had already been planning how to make them happen before they did.

So, I started digging. And digging.

But now, here we were.

I leaned back in my chair, my legs stretched out in front of me, one foot tapping the floor to a rhythm only I could hear. Asmund sat across from me in the interrogation room, looking calm, too calm. The aura of collected professionalism that hung around him was almost as unsettling as the coldness in his eyes. He didn't flinch. He didn't blink. He didn't react when I walked in with my ridiculous tie and my oversized glasses, my entire outfit practically screaming "eccentric CEO."

It was part of the plan, of course. He wouldn't suspect me. Who would?

"Mr. Mayhem," Asmund's voice was flat, calculated. "I see you're still playing the fool."

I smiled brightly, taking my time to adjust my tie, making sure it was as ridiculous as possible. It was a game. A mental chess match, and I was already three moves ahead. "Ah, Asmund, my dear fellow, you wound me! I am not a fool—I'm a strategist." I threw my arms up theatrically, flashing him a grin that would have made a circus clown proud.

Inside, I was calm. Detached. My training kicked in, honing my focus. This wasn't just about being entertaining for the room; it was about wearing him down. Everyone thought I was just some goofy CEO, a man who didn't take anything seriously. And that was my edge.