The Numbers Don’t Lie
The glass shattered beside my head.
I ducked, sending my laptop sliding across the conference table.
“Everybody stay where you are.”
Mason Reed’s voice cut through the room.
The Kingsport Knights’ star quarterback stood opposite me, gripping a crumpled report. Blood trickled across his knuckles, but his attention was fixed on me.
“Are you hurt?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Check properly.”
“I can manage.”
“I know. Just check.”
I glanced at my hands. No cuts. Thankfully, my first day hadn’t ended with a trip to the emergency room.
Mason pulled out the chair beside him, giving me room to move away from the broken glass.
Then he faced me again.
“Tell me why you think I’m predictable.”
I swallowed.
Apparently, I’d managed to offend the most famous man in Texas before lunchtime.
“Your numbers don’t match the raw tracking data.”
His jaw tightened.
“That’s a serious accusation.”
“It’s an observation.”
“An observation you made on your first day?”
“You asked me a question.”
Someone at the end of the table coughed.
Mason glanced at him. “Something funny?”
The man immediately looked down at his notebook.
I almost smiled.
Almost.
“Show me,” Mason said.
I opened my laptop.
My name is Evelyn Carter. I’m twenty-three, and I have a terrible habit of noticing things other people miss.
Numbers have always made more sense to me than people. They don’t expect small talk, judge my glasses, or ask why I’d rather analyze football statistics than attend parties.
I’d spent years studying sports analytics, determined to build a career on my own intelligence.
Now, on my first day with the Kingsport Knights, I was explaining suspicious statistics to their starting quarterback.
Wonderful.
I turned my laptop toward him.
“The report says you hesitate when defenses apply pressure from the left. But the raw data shows you changing your decisions before the pressure arrives.”
Mason studied the screen.
“So?”
“Either the tracking system is wrong, the report is wrong, or somebody changed the data.”
Silence settled over the room.
“Can you prove it?” he asked.
“I need the original tracking logs and the file’s version history.”
“You’ll get them.”
His immediate answer surprised me.
“Just like that?”
“You found a problem. We investigate it.”
The coach beside him shifted in his seat. “Mason, we don’t know that anyone deliberately changed anything.”
“Then checking the records shouldn’t be a problem.”
He wasn’t shouting or trying to embarrass me. He simply wanted answers.
I found myself respecting him, which was inconvenient because I’d already decided he was arrogant.
“There’s more,” I said.
Mason looked at me.
“Of course there is.”
I enlarged the figures.
“The altered numbers make your reactions appear slower than they actually were. If the coaching staff uses this report to prepare for the next game, they could build their strategy around inaccurate information.”
His expression hardened.
“Could our opponents get access to the same information?”
“It’s possible.”
He rubbed his forehead. “Wonderful.”
Despite everything, a laugh escaped me.
His eyes returned to mine.
“What?”
“Nothing. I expected you to yell more.”
He blinked,then laughed.
It wasn’t the polished smile plastered across billboards. It was genuine, briefly softening his face.
“You want me to yell?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Good. My throat’s already killing me.”
For the first time, the tension eased.
Then he leaned toward my laptop.
“Carter, find out who changed those numbers.”
“I will.”
“And if you’re wrong, tell me.”
“Fair.”
He studied me.
“You’re not nearly as nervous as you look.”
“I’m one more flying object away from changing careers.”
His mouth twitched.
“I’ll try to keep the office supplies on the table.”
I was about to answer when the lights flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Every screen in the conference room went black.
Someone swore.
Mason immediately stood.
“IT, check the system.”
A staff member hurried toward the control panel.
The screens flashed back to life, but the presentation didn’t return.
Three words appeared against the black background.
STOP LOOKING.
My stomach dropped.
Nobody spoke.
Then the message disappeared, and the presentation returned as though nothing had happened.
“Who has access to this system?” Mason demanded.
“Authorized staff and IT,” someone answered.
“Find out who sent that message.”
The room erupted into movement.
I couldn’t move.
Those words weren’t a technical glitch.
They were a warning.
Someone knew what I’d found.
Someone knew I was investigating.
And someone wanted me to stop.
My phone vibrated inside my pocket.
I pulled it out.
Unknown number.
DELETE THE REPORT.
My fingers went cold.
Another message arrived.
YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT THEY DID TO HIM.
I looked across the table.
Mason was speaking to the head of security, his expression controlled. When he noticed my face, he stopped.
“Evelyn?”
I showed him my phone.
He read the messages, and something hardened behind his eyes.
“Don’t reply.”
“Do you know who sent them?”
“No.”
His answer came too quickly.
Before I could question him, a security officer approached with a tablet.
“Mr. Reed, we’ve identified where the message originated.”
Mason turned.
“Outside the building?”
The officer hesitated.
“No. It came from an authorized account inside the facility.”
Silence swallowed the room.
“Whose account?” Mason asked.
“We’re still checking.”
My phone vibrated again.
A third message appeared.
ASK MASON WHY YOUR NAME WAS ALREADY IN THE FILE BEFORE YOU WERE HIRED.
I read it twice again
