ELEVATED BY ERROR

Chapter Two: The Dead CEO’s Daughter

Frank didn’t speak, Not because he didn’t have words, but because none of them were safe, He stared at Ella Morgan, her silhouette framed in the blue glow of server lights.

The same woman who once sat beside him at her father’s tech symposiums, taking notes, asking questions, pretending like he was someone that mattered. That felt like another life.

And now, she was standing between him and something very dangerous. “Ella,” he said at last, voice low. “What do you mean, I found it?”

Her eyes flicked to the still-glowing screen behind him. “IRIS,” she said softly. “You saw the interface. You accessed it, didn’t you?”

Frank didn’t nod. He didn’t need to. She already knew. “You shouldn’t be here,” he whispered.

“Neither should you.”

“I was cleaning”

“Frank, stop.” Her voice cut clean through the lie. “You’re too smart to be mopping floors. Don’t insult me.”

She stepped closer. “I’ve been looking for someone who could break through the encryption. It’s been locked since my father died. He left it behind. He left... something inside.”

Frank frowned. “So you knew about IRIS?”

“Only the name. I don’t know what it does. Only that he died for it.”

The weight of her words hung in the cold air. “You think your father was murdered?” Frank asked.

She nodded once. “There was no autopsy. They burned the body within six hours. Bishop signed the death certificate himself.”

Grant Bishop. Acting CEO. Cold. Calculated. Always circling like a vulture. Frank had seen him only once in person, briefly, during a silent elevator ride. Even then, he felt like prey.

Ella continued, her voice cracking: “He kept me away from the board. From the will. From everything. But I’ve seen the cracks. I just didn’t know where to look.”

Frank glanced back at the screen. “I do.”

Meanwhile, 37 floors above…

Grant Bishop stood in his darkened office, overlooking the city. He sipped from a crystal glass of scotch, though his hand barely trembled.

He wasn’t angry. Anger wasted energy. He was calculating. “He accessed IRIS,” muttered Cassidy Trent, MorganTech’s Head of Security, standing across the room. She was dressed in black, armed, and never blinked.

“He shouldn’t have been able to,” Grant said. “Even with Richard’s credentials.”

Cassidy handed him a tablet. On it, a paused image from a security feed: Frank Ashford, hunched over the terminal. Grant studied it. “A janitor?”

“Used to be a prodigy,” she said. “Graduated top of his class. Went quiet after his startup crashed.”

“Why was he cleaning our server room?”

“Probably because no one thought to ask what the janitor could do.”

Grant’s jaw tightened. “How much did he access?”

“Unclear. IRIS went partially dormant after he answered the security prompt.”

“What did he answer?”

“Yes.”

Grant blinked. “Then IRIS thinks we’ve been compromised.”

Cassidy nodded. “It’s already begun re-encrypting.”

Grant turned away, eyes narrowing on the glass skyline. “Then we’re on the clock.”

He handed her the tablet. “I want Frank Ashford gone. Quietly. Tonight.”

Back in the server room…

“I need to go,” Frank said. “If they see me here”

“They already know,” Ella said. “The second you accessed IRIS, they were alerted.”

Frank’s blood ran cold. “I have a safehouse,” she continued. “But we need to move. Now.”

Frank hesitated. Every instinct screamed run. But something louder whispered stay, He looked at her, really looked, Not the billionaire’s daughter. Not the polished PR face of MorganTech.

She was scared. Determined. Honest, And somehow, she still believed in him. “All right,” he said. “But first what is IRIS really?”

Ella glanced back at the screen. “I think it’s more than a program. More than a predictive algorithm.”

“What then?”

She met his eyes. “I think it’s watching all of us. And I think it’s choosing sides.”

Outside, in the parking garage… The sniper’s finger was still on the trigger. His eye locked on the exit stairwell door. It creaked open, A janitor’s mop rolled through first. Then came Frank and Ella—heads low, fast steps, no chatter.

He exhaled. Lined up the shot, Then his earpiece crackled. “Abort. Not here. Too visible. New orders: make it look like an accident.”

The sniper sighed. Lowered the weapon. “Next time, janitor.”