Buch lesen: «Cryptocurrency: Web of Deception»

© Sat Oshi, 2024

ISBN 978-5-0064-9532-6

Создано в интеллектуальной издательской системе Ridero

Chapter 1. Tomorrow Begins Yesterday

Time dragged on relentlessly, like the rain that had started during the night and now tapped softly against the windowpanes. The morning was as cold as the evening before, when Mark Davis, a private detective, awoke with the unsettling sense that his life had slipped back into its monotonous rhythm – yet again, for what felt like the hundredth time that year.

He lay in bed, unhurried, tugging at the sleeves of his worn flannel shirt. His gaze rested on the gray clouds crowding the skyline outside his window, a view that only deepened the invisible void within him. That familiar, gnawing emptiness had been his constant companion – unyielding, inescapable. Each morning was the same: the weight of everything around him pressing down, the staring faces of old photographs hung on the walls, their subjects long gone.

Mark’s apartment on the twenty-fifth floor of a suburban New York complex was exactly as he had envisioned it when he first moved in – a far cry from cozy. The chairs were stained, their upholstery marked by years of neglect. The frayed rugs held onto the scents of a bygone era, as if they too resisted change. Cracks crept along the walls, peeling paint flaking away like pages from a forgotten book. The urge to scrape it all clean, to claim a fresh start, gnawed at him. In the corner stood an unpacked suitcase, waiting for a departure he had postponed indefinitely.

He lay still for a long while, staring at the ceiling, trying to make sense of the time, the day, and most importantly, the reason to carry on. His mornings had become a mirror of his life – a bleak, unchanging landscape. The faint aroma of coffee wafted in from the kitchen, where the pot had been left on overnight. The bitter smell turned his stomach, yet he brewed it daily, unable to break the habit. In a nearby pot, milk had boiled over and slightly scorched. It bothered him, but he didn’t care enough to fix it.

He shuffled to the window, pulling aside a dusty curtain. The world outside was blurred by rain and mist, the city appearing lifeless, abandoned. Puddles pooled on the asphalt below, untouched by passing cars. Even in the damp, chilling air, there was something vaguely menacing, as though the city itself was as lost as he was.

When his phone vibrated on the table, he sighed. He knew this day would be like any other, but habit compelled him to pick up the call. The number was unfamiliar, and something about it prickled at his senses. This wasn’t going to be just another routine case.

«Hello?» he answered, his voice flat, almost disinterested.

«Is this Mark Davis?» A woman’s voice came through, tense and distant, as though her words existed in some parallel space untouched by emotion.

«Yes.»

A pause hung heavy between them. Mark felt the familiar pull of the emptiness, the weight of silent, lonely nights creeping into the moment.

«My name is Elizabeth Smith,» she said finally, her voice carrying a faint tremor of desperation. «I need to hire you to find my brother.»

Something shifted. Her tone, the urgency barely masked in her voice – it was more than the plea of a client. It was personal, and Mark’s intuition told him as much. Life had taught him to trust that instinct.

«Missing?» he asked, his words slow and deliberate, though his mind was already racing to fill in the gaps.

«Yes. My brother, Dylan, disappeared a week ago. He’s a trader at one of the cryptocurrency exchanges. I’m afraid his disappearance wasn’t an accident. He… he left, and I don’t know where. I need to find him, and I think you’re the one who can help.»

Mark sank into a chair, his eyes drifting back to the rain-streaked window. The tension in her voice, the almost inaudible cracks in her composure – it was as if she’d been waiting for him, for this moment. He couldn’t explain it, but he knew he couldn’t turn her away.

«I’ll take the case,» he said at last, his tone sharp yet weary, masking the faint flicker of unease stirring inside him. Something about this case felt different, heavier. He knew, deep down, it wouldn’t end well.

«Thank you. I’ll send you all the details,» she replied, a thread of relief weaving through her words. But Mark knew better. This wasn’t the end. It was only the beginning.

Chapter 2: Lost in Numbers

Morning light seeped through the old blinds, cutting the room into soft bands of warmth. Mark Davis sat at his cluttered desk, staring at his phone. He reread the message from Elizabeth Smith, terse and formal, confirming the time and place of their meeting. Something about its simplicity unsettled him, as if every word carried a weight that couldn’t be ignored.

The apartment around him mirrored his mood – faded, weary. A battered wooden desk sagged under a heap of crumpled papers, a chipped ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts, and a mug bearing the dried remnants of coffee. On the wall, a crooked calendar marked no significant dates, as though time had stopped bothering with this place. Mark threw on a scuffed leather jacket and his usual jeans, clothes that announced he wanted to blend in. A glance in the streaked mirror told him he looked as exhausted as he felt, but he lit a cigarette anyway, the curling smoke mingling with the damp air left by last night’s rain.

The café on the corner was a stark contrast to Mark’s grimy apartment. Caffè Esperanza, proclaimed the faded gold letters above the door, promised a refuge of warm lighting and the aroma of fresh coffee. Inside, a comfortable hum of chatter filled the air, softened by the scent of cinnamon and vanilla.

Elizabeth was easy to spot. She sat by the window, her sharp black suit contrasting with the café’s pastel decor. Light filtered through the glass, highlighting the dark circles under her eyes and the tight grip she kept on her untouched cappuccino. Mark approached quietly, his presence drawing her gaze. Her composed exterior cracked ever so slightly – just enough to betray the desperation simmering beneath.

«Elizabeth,» Mark said as he reached her table.

She gestured for him to sit. Her hands, still clutching a spoon, trembled faintly as if she were holding on to the last threads of control.

«Thank you for coming,» she said.

Mark settled in, his eyes scanning her face, her posture, her every micro-expression. This was second nature to him now.

«Start from the beginning,» he said simply.

Elizabeth took a breath, her gaze darting out the window before returning to him.

«Dylan, my brother, was a trader. He worked for a cryptocurrency exchange called Epsilon. It was everything to him – his work, his passion. He’d spend hours explaining to me how crypto was going to change the world. I’d tease him that he probably slept with his laptop.»

She paused, her fingers tightening around the spoon.

«A month ago, he quit. He said it was for „personal reasons,“ but I didn’t believe him. He sounded… scared.» Her voice wavered as she reached into her bag and pulled out a photograph. «And then, a week ago, he vanished.»

Mark took the photo – a young man with kind eyes and a faint, nervous smile. There was a tiredness there, though, barely concealed beneath his expression.

«I’ve tried calling, texting. Nothing. I went to his apartment – it was like he stepped out for a moment and never came back.» She placed a small black notebook on the table. «I found this at his place. It’s all I have.»

Mark flipped through the pages, skimming charts, handwritten notes, and cryptic phrases. One page caught his eye: «Trust no one. Not even yourself.»

He closed the notebook and slipped it into his jacket. «I’ll start at his apartment,» he said. «If there’s anything to find, I’ll find it.»

Elizabeth looked at him with restrained hope. «Thank you. I just… I need to know what happened to him.»

Mark nodded, his expression giving away nothing. «We’ll figure it out.»

That evening, Mark stood outside Dylan’s apartment building. It was a worn-out high-rise, its walls streaked with grime and its stairwells smelling of damp and decay. Inside, the elevator creaked with every floor it passed, but the real unease hit when he reached Dylan’s door. It swung open too easily, as if waiting for him.

The apartment was eerily ordinary. Everything was in its place, yet the absence of its occupant was palpable. Empty coffee cups cluttered the counter, a jacket draped over a chair, and unopened mail piled on a side table. The faint hum of a refrigerator was the only sound.

On the desk sat a laptop, its lid slightly ajar. Beside it was another photograph of Dylan, identical to the one Elizabeth had shown. But this one had something scrawled on the back: «You know where to find me.»

Mark flipped it over again, his brow furrowing. A challenge? A clue? Either way, it was meant for someone – maybe him now.

He opened the laptop, but the screen immediately prompted for a password. He leaned back, exhaling in frustration. The answers wouldn’t come that easily.

Taking out his phone, Mark snapped pictures of everything – the room, the desk, the photo, even the stacks of unopened mail. There were clues here; they just hadn’t revealed themselves yet.

Locking the door behind him, Mark stepped back into the silent hallway, a gnawing sense of urgency beginning to take root. Somewhere out there, in the labyrinth of the digital world Dylan had immersed himself in, was the key to his disappearance. Mark just had to find it.