Wrecked By A Wounded Biker

Chapter 8 - Fault Lines

SOPHIE BARELY slept.

After Matthew left her apartment the previous night, she had remained at her desk long after midnight, staring at the anonymous files that had arrived on the flash drive.

At first glance, the records looked legitimate.

The transfers followed recognizable financial patterns. The shell companies appeared professionally constructed. The cryptocurrency transactions moved through multiple wallets before arriving at their destinations. Whoever had assembled the files knew what they were doing.

That was what worried her. Amateurs made mistakes, but professionals buried them.

By three in the morning, her eyes burned from staring at spreadsheets and transaction histories, but she still had not found the answer she was looking for.

The numbers refused to cooperate. The timeline refused to cooperate. Most importantly, Matthew's version of events refused to cooperate.

Sophie leaned back in her chair and rubbed her temples.

The records showed payments connected to race telemetry systems, betting operations, and sabotage activities.

Several of those payments were linked to Moore Customs. That alone was concerning. But what truly bothered her was the dates.

Luis had admitted to taking unauthorized side jobs through the garage network. Matthew had fired him. The timeline should have ended there.

Instead, the payments continued.

One week. Two weeks. Nearly a month.

The transactions remained active long after Matthew claimed everything had stopped. It made no sense. Unless someone else had continued the operation.

Or Matthew had lied.

The second possibility sat like a stone in her stomach. She hated that her mind kept returning to it.

Matthew was stubborn, infuriating and secretive.

But she had never considered him dishonest.

The distinction mattered.

A soft knock interrupted her thoughts. Sophie glanced toward the front door. She already knew who it was.

Matthew had texted thirty minutes earlier. I'm outside.

No explanation. No greeting. Just those two words.

Very Matthew.

She opened the door. He stood in the hallway holding two cups of coffee.

His expression immediately sharpened when he saw her. "You look terrible."

"Good morning to you too,” she said, rolling her eyes.

"You looked like didn't sleep.”

"You got arrested yesterday."

He handed her a coffee. "Fair point."

Matthew followed her inside and stopped when he noticed the state of her apartment. Her dining table had disappeared beneath stacks of printed financial reports. Three laptops sat open, transaction maps covered the wall above her desk, and colored notes connected companies, crypto wallets, and payment routes.

The entire room looked like an investigator's war room.

Matthew stared.

Then he slowly turned toward her. "You've been doing this all night?"

She nodded. "Most of it."

"Sophie.”

She raised an eyebrow. "What?"

His expression darkened. "You can't keep doing this to yourself."

She almost laughed.

The irony was impressive. The man who entered illegal motorcycle races and got himself arrested was worried about her work habits.

Matthew seemed to recognize the thought immediately. "Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Whatever sarcastic thing you're thinking."

That actually earned a small smile from her. Unfortunately, it disappeared quickly.

She walked toward her desk. "We need to talk."

The smile vanished from his face too. He set his coffee down. "About the transfers?"

"Yes, about the illegal transfers."

Matthew exhaled slowly.

Sophie turned one of the monitors toward him. Rows of highlighted transactions filled the screen. "I spent the night tracing payment activity."

His eyes moved over the information. "What did you find?"

"The timeline doesn't match your explanation."

The room became quiet.

Matthew looked at her. "What does that mean?"

"It means the transactions continue for almost four weeks after Luis supposedly stopped using the network."

His jaw tightened. "I told you what happened."

"I know."

"Then why are we having this conversation?"

Sophie folded her arms. "Because the data says otherwise."

The words landed badly and she saw it immediately. Something hardened in Matthew's expression. It wasn’t anger. Itw as hurt.

Which somehow felt worse.

Matthew met her eyes. "You think I'm lying."

She looked at him. "No."

"Then explain what you're saying."

Sophie struggled for a moment. The problem was that she didn't fully know what she was saying. The evidence contradicted the man standing in front of her.

One of them had to be wrong.

"I think there's information we're missing,” she said.

Matthew laughed humorlessly. "That's a nice way of saying you trust the spreadsheet more than me."

Her patience thinned. "That's not fair."

"Isn't it?" His voice remained calm. The calmness somehow made the conversation more dangerous. "You found numbers you don't like, and now you're looking at me like I'm a suspect."

She exhaled frustratingly. "I never said that."

"You didn't have to."

Sophie set her coffee down. "Matthew, I'm trying to figure out what happened."

"And I'm telling you I have never seen those accounts before."

She put her hands on her waist. "I believe that."

"Do you?" Matthew asked almost immediately.

The question caught her off guard.

Matthew took a step closer. His eyes never left hers. "Because right now it doesn't feel like you do."

Sophie hated how much uncertainty had crept into her own thoughts. Normally, evidence made things simpler. Normally, evidence provided clarity.

This time it only created questions.

She heaved a deep sigh before answering. "Matthew, I don't understand the timeline."

"Neither do I."

"Then help me understand it."

Matthew stared at the monitor. For several moments, neither spoke. Finally, he looked back at her. "Do you know what frustrates me about you sometimes?"

Sophie's eyebrows lifted. "I'm sure you're about to tell me."

"You always trust data before people."

The statement hit harder than expected. She frowned. "Because data doesn't lie."

Matthew laughed tiredly. "That might be the most Sophie Smith answer I've ever heard."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means you built your entire life around systems because systems are predictable." His voice remained steady and measured. "You trust numbers because numbers don't disappoint you. You trust code because code behaves according to rules."

"And people don't,” she said.

"No. People don't." His gaze sharpened. "But data gets manipulated. Evidence gets planted. Financial records get forged. Isn't that literally your job? You spend half your life proving that digital information can be altered."

The argument hit a nerve. Because he wasn't wrong.

Sophie's entire career revolved around identifying false information. She taught companies how to detect manipulated records. She investigated fraud. She exposed cybercrime.

Yet the moment she saw these files, she had accepted them as truth. The realization unsettled her.

Matthew noticed and his expression softened slightly. "I'm not asking you to ignore evidence."

"Then what are you asking?"

"I'm asking you not to convict me before we know who's holding the gun."

Silence settled between them.

And since the files arrived, Sophie questioned her own assumptions. That uncertainty bothered her. Because uncertainty meant vulnerability. And vulnerability had never been her favorite state.

Eventually, she turned back toward the monitor. "We need another opinion."

Matthew crossed his arms. "Who?"

Sophie hesitated. Then she answered. "Lucien Keller."

The reaction was immediate.

Matthew's expression became unreadable.

That alone told her exactly how he felt about the suggestion.