Who is Chloe Shaw?

by Aubrey Parker

  Table of Contents

  Who is Chloe Shaw?

  Copyright

  Who is Chloe Shaw?

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Want to know what happens next?

  Who is Chloe Shaw?

  Aubrey Parker

  Copyright © 2017 by Aubrey Parker. All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, businesses, events, or locales is purely coincidental.

  Reproduction in whole or part of this publication without express written consent is strictly prohibited.

  The author greatly appreciates you taking the time to read this work. Please consider leaving a review wherever you bought the book, or telling your friends about it, to help spread the word.

  Thank you for supporting Aubrey Parker

  CHAPTER ONE

  Chloe had leaned so fully into The Beam’s decrypted Internet records that she nearly collapsed when the stream abruptly ended. She glared at Brad — whose appearance, she suddenly remembered, hadn’t even been invited to this espionage party.

  “Then what happened?” she demanded.

  Brad, infuriatingly mild-mannered as ever, remained in his chair and crossed one holographic leg over the other. “Then you grew up, and were party to everything after your birth.”

  Chloe was in no mood for the porter’s sarcasm. “You know what I meant, Brad. Are you saying Spooner is my father? Somehow? Despite the fact that he wasn’t present at conception?”

  “I can neither confirm nor deny that.”

  “Because you don’t know?”

  “Because information on Mr. Spooner is restricted.”

  “You’ve just given me all sorts of information about him!” Chloe fumed.

  And he had. Chloe had lost track of all the data sources The Beam cobbled together, but she now knew a lot about the famous (infamous?) Mr. Clive Spooner. She knew how he got his rocks off; she knew he’d spent more time with Chloe’s mother than any man had ever spent with Chloe; she even knew, from one photographic collage, how he liked his suits tailored.

  Brad’s info dump had, in one way or another, shown her about six years of Spooner’s life. It hadn’t been a documentary chronicling his affair with Nicole Shaw, and Chloe’s mother would remember tons of things The Beam hadn’t shown her. But even though she’d only read data summaries, sifted through pictures, and watched a few public-camera video streams, Chloe practically felt like she’d lived in Nicole’s skin, and knew Spooner well.

  Restricted indeed.

  “The Beam historian AIs have opened records that are freely available, albeit buried and obfuscated — at a level of access up to and including O board members. They have not — and will not — provide you information beyond the sector this canvas has its top level of access to.”

  “‘O board member access,’” Chloe repeated. “You’ve shown me what Parker Barnes or even Alexa Mathis have access to?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “It was not specifically prohibited. Because The Beam does not yet officially exist, AI historians have apparently decided that neither does an access level for Chloe Shaw — either low or high.” He shrugged — another odd holographic effect that added to the machine’s creepy faux humanity. “If I had to guess, it was the historians’ way of ‘bending the rules’ in your favor.” He said bending the rules as if he wasn’t sure he fully understood the concept.

  “So is Spooner my father or not?”

  “I’m sorry, Chloe. The restrictions on access to Mr. Spooner’s information are not ambiguous. There is no room to bend rules. We can give you only what is freely available. Because most of his relationship with your mother took place in a spa which the O board can access.”

  Chloe was angry but increasingly certain that the true emotion was closer to frustration. She’d been given brochure-level access to an affair that had been hidden from all but the most highly authorized eye. She knew how often Clive had come to Voyos but not details of what they’d done behind closed doors. She knew they’d left the island together but not specifically where they’d gone or what they’d done. Chloe knew the times Nicole had been away and could clearly see the machinations that kept her paid even for that missing time, but still couldn’t answer her biggest questions:

  Had they been a couple or just long-term fuck buddies?

  And more importantly:

  Was Spooner her father?

  Chloe had already sorted through enough confidential-but-not-top-level-restricted information in the Internet archives (as parsed by The Beam) to prove that Spooner had been apart from Nicole for a healthy window on either side of her conception date. No baby took a year to grow. Someone else had obviously knocked her up — somehow, some way.

  Even if Clive couldn’t be her father, Chloe felt certain that Spooner was the man her mother had always referred to as “your father.” He fit all the details Nicole had told Chloe through the years: his vague bits of history, suggestions of fame and power, the fact that he’d originally come from the Wild East. The timeframe was right; Nicole had told Chloe they’d been together for years.

  But the rest was wrong. She knew that much even as Chloe considered pestering Brad to reveal that restricted information: pretty please, with sugar on top. There wouldn’t be any point in scratching the wall of Spooner’s restricted records. He wasn’t her biological father.

  Chloe looked like her mother in many ways: her blue eyes, her dark hair, her long, lean frame and smallish chest. They had the same open, welcoming smile and the same devilish look designed to seduce. But there was much about Chloe that wasn’t Nicole at all: her tiny overbite, the extra width of that welcoming smile, the shape of her eyes, the length of her fingers, and so much more now that Chloe was searching in earnest.

  The Beam had only given Chloe the accounts that users or sensors had managed to record in the late 2030s, but she could fill in a few gaps and draw some solid conclusions.

  They’d been together. Nicole had lowered her walls and allowed herself to believe she was in love. A classic prostitute’s misstep.

  Spooner, judging by the lack of public records following the Summit (and after Chloe’s birth), had likely lost interest in Nicole. Whether he’d ever loved her was up in the air. It wasn’t as though the spotty history had offered transcripts. As far as Chloe knew, Crossbrace didn’t record and keep that kind of thing even today, and this was over twenty years ago … on Voyos.

  But regardless of whether Spooner had loved her, Nicole still carried the flame today — hidden, protected deep inside her heart. And so, it seemed Nicole must have lied to herself — perhaps to the world. She told herself that Clive was Chloe’s father, despite the evidence to the contrary.

  “But this doesn’t help me, Brad. I asked who I was. You told me bits and pieces of a broken love story.”

  Her anger was gone. Chloe felt like she’d learned the trick of bending The Beam to her mercy, and yet still she’d come up empty. She wouldn’t shout. Her only remaining tactic was to beg.

  “You know your father’s identity by your mother’s criteria. It has to be enough.”

  “I didn’t want to know who she deluded herself into thinking was my father. Knowing her sad hopes doesn’t tell me who I am.”

  Brad didn’t reply immediately. He bit his lip as if in deep contemplation. Who was teaching him these human tricks? Chloe seldom bit her lip — was he learning these things on his own?

  His vo
ice careful, Brad said, “You have more than you had before.”

  “About what?”

  “About Clive Spooner.”

  “Why would I give a shit about Clive Spooner?” Chloe blurted, her anger back.

  Fuck Brad. And fuck the useless trivia The Beam had shown her about the man who wasn’t her father. If he wanted to pretend he was helping her find answers, he’d need to do a whole lot better.

  What she had so far was useless. Spooner was an asshole who’d shattered her mother’s heart — a man who’d been saved from raising a cuckoo’s egg by a luckily-timed trip out of town. If he’d stuck around, Nicole probably would have trapped him. She’d have told Clive that Chloe was his kid.

  How did any of that help answer her questions?

  “If you want to find a truth, master your emotions.”

  Chloe rolled her eyes. “Like Obi-Wan Kenobi?”

  “Like Chloe Shaw. Like the woman who trained herself to build a partition inside her mind.”

  Chloe met Brad’s stare. He was a projection, but still, there was something. She could almost feel his mind reaching out to hers through his refracted pixels.

  Come on, Chloe. Don’t give up now. You’re asking all the right questions — and if you can keep us on the right side of the restricted data, I’ll help wherever I can.

  “Clive Spooner,” Chloe said evenly.

  Brad nodded.

  “He’s not my father.”

  “I cannot confirm or deny that.”

  “But maybe, regardless, he’s a good place to start.”

  “Perhaps,” said Brad.

  A shrug. An actual, no-bullshit wink. And then: “If that’s what you think.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Alexa stood inside her penthouse apartment, Crossbrace connection entirely off and three privacy snoopers on patrol just in case. She clasped her mobile in one sweaty hand, trying to psych herself up for what had to be done.

  Deep breaths. This is best. It’s the only way.

  She didn’t want to make the call. Doing so wasn’t all that different from extending her neck for the butcher’s blade. But no matter how many times she made lists inside her mind — no matter how many times she wrote similar lists on paper before burning the evidence — Alexa kept returning to the same conclusion.

  She had to discuss the Chloe Shaw enigma with someone. The stakes were too high — and she’d dug her grave too deep — to drop the unsolvable mystery. She’d tried resolving it all on her own, but with even Alexa’s Beam avatar Sarah holding hidden cards, alone was a dead end.

  She couldn’t talk to the O board.

  Alexa couldn’t talk to Parker, even off-board. She still trusted him, but wasn’t sure exactly how much after his stunt with Andrew.

  She couldn’t talk to Clive, for obvious reasons.

  As much as she’d have loved a discussion with other members of Panel (Noah West most of all, if he was still alive enough to take her call), she couldn’t do that, either. Also for obvious reasons.

  And the man Alexa really, truly wanted to talk to? The incorruptible Boy Scout who’d squandered power and untold billions because he’d believed his course was morally right? Well. Nobody had heard from him in decades, and even Alexa’s most aggressive searches unearthed nothing.

  With all other options gone, a single name kept coming up for Alexa no matter how many times she ran through her mental Rolodex. Only one person knew enough to understand her dilemma but not enough to stand on his soapbox and refuse her questions. Only one person in the entire NAU likely had the resources to help her with the Chloe problem … and, if she was lucky, still desperately wanted something that only Alexa might be willing and able to provide.

  She tried to dial, but her fingers were shaking. She tossed the call to the Crossbrace panel on her living room wall and dialed by voice.

  The screen’s icon changed from in-progress to connected.

  A serpent’s voice said, “Hello, Alexa.”

  She fought a chill. Alexa hadn’t spoken to this man in over 20 years. She wasn’t supposed to have a way to contact him, and the number wasn’t publicly linked to his Crossbrace ID — naturally encrypted. His first words should have expressed outrage at her finding his number — something that only Panel-level access had been able to suss. He should’ve sounded shocked to hear her voice.

  But no. There was only a pair of icy words, entirely unsurprised: Hello, Alexa.

  Controlled, she said, “Hello, Caspian.”

  “You’re looking well.”

  Alexa looked behind her: a primitive part of her brain responding to a threat by assessing her blind spots despite this being a call without video. But before she was half turned the call box on her wall screen blinked to life and she found herself facing a man in an immaculate black suit, starched white shirt, and a midnight blue tie that perfectly matched his eyes. His hair was blond, medium length and brushing his collar, combed so precisely that it might have been styled by engineers. Still cover-model handsome. Alexa had never liked Caspian. But like any woman similarly inclined, she’d lusted after him plenty.

  Her old emotions rushed back. She had time to suppress her surprise at their call going to video, and the fact that he barely looked forty. In truth, Caspian was at least seventy — but if Alexa’s nanobots had kept her age from showing, the same would be true of him.

  “And you.” Don’t let him take control of this conversation, Girl. You called him to ask, not to stammer your way through answers. “How is Aurora?”

  “She’s doing well, despite the rough fucking I gave her earlier.”

  “Oh. That’s—”

  “We owe you a debt of gratitude. I never thought I’d have been able to settle down into a marriage. But the toys your company makes …”

  Alexa hesitated. She’d remembered his girl’s name, but had somehow forgotten that they were married — an obvious oversight, considering they’d been together since Alexa’s Eros days. Still, imagining Caspian with a wife was like picturing a crocodile cuddling a teddy bear.

  He reached up and absently rubbed the side of his sculpted nose. A spotless, matte metal ring glinted on his third finger.

  “Thank you for asking after her, Alexa. It’s kind of you to remember. And how is Clive?”

  Alexa’s carefully held expression dropped. “I’m not with Clive.”

  Surprised: “I thought you were with Clive? That’s a shame. You were so good together.”

  “We—”

  “Who are you with now?”

  “I’m single.”

  “Well,” Caspian said, a tiny, sympathetic smile on his lips. “That’s okay. I’m sure you’ll find someone.”

  Alexa forced herself to breathe slowly. So much for keeping the upper hand. It had always been like this between them. Then again, it had always been this way with everyone and Caspian.

  “In any event,” he said, “it’s nice to hear from you after all these years.”

  Alexa paused to reassess, cursing herself for allowing the video. Talking to Caspian was bad, and a thousand times worse when face-to-face. For one, he’d answered looking like he’d been in the middle of another of his many photo shoots. Alexa was in old pajamas, without make-up, her hair in a sloppy ponytail. But even worse, she knew he could read her face as plainly as most women felt he could see through their clothes. Alexa could say whatever she wanted, but it would hardly matter —he’d also see every little thing she wasn’t saying.

  Alexa fought the quiet seconds. Should she ignore the elephant, or go right at its throat and confront the awkward thing between them?

  “I was wondering if you’d be interested in a deal.”

  “I adore deals. Especially long-overdue deals with you, Alexa.”

  She paused again. That had almost certainly been a jab at their shared past, where she’d ascended and he’d been shoved unceremoniously aside. But he was still smiling, playing civil.

  “Do you still have your Wild East connections? In Uk
raine?”

  “Of course not.” The smile stayed on his face. “That would be illegal. Bordering on treason.”

  “My group came across an anomaly in the East in the ‘30s, from a, well, let’s call it an early nanobot ‘carrier’ whose activities had rebooted some of the satellites over there and eventually, for a time, touched our pre-Crossbrace network. I think it was in 2034, and—”

  “I assume you mean Panel?”

  Alexa bit her tongue. He wasn’t supposed to know about Panel. But then again, the decision to deny his membership hadn’t happened invisibly; Caspian had known that a new group was forming even as the old Syndicate’s power had started to wane. He had — by virtue of his Syndicate membership — considered himself a legacy. But that had been far from true; Syndicate hadn’t ported to Panel, and while the Syndicate numbered over 100 members, Panel had only a handful. Still, Caspian’s exclusion had always felt to Alexa like a near miss and a threat in waiting. Men like him never went quietly.

  Carefully, Alexa said, “Yes.”

  “I just want to be sure I understand the context. Please. Continue.”

  “We know an elite group of hackers noticed the anomaly, and for a brief time we were concerned that they’d hooked hardware into still-functioning satellite dishes, uplinked to those rebooted satellites, and tunneled a back door into Quark’s database, through the old Internet.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Ukrainian hackers. With rumored ties to Bratva.”

  “And with that, things move from interesting to downright intriguing. You have me on the edge of my seat, Alexa.”

  She regarded his smirking image, resenting his smug attitude and effortlessly handsome bearing — especially how easily he was making her jump through hoops. The man was a genius — he had to know that Alexa wouldn’t dare request favors without something big to offer in return. And of course, he’d know what that something big was. With all of Caspian’s wealth and power (his controlling interests, both public and unknown, had to rival O’s), there was only one cookie to capture his interest.