He already had the date in mind — the amount gleaming in his thoughts like a ripe golden apple waiting to be picked. Ten thousand dollars. He sat behind his screen with that same cool smile he always wore when the world danced to his rhythm. Three years he’d done this — small squeezes first, then the big hit. Always the same pattern: Threaten. Demand. Wait. Collect. Dinner’s served.
This week, he wanted to finish it. No more jokes, no more fake reviews, no more games. Just the money. He stirred his coffee, half-reading the lines he was typing. His eyes were tired but alive with that low hum of control he loved.
Then — click.
A tiny, plastic sound. One single click. He turned his head slightly and saw, in the corner of his eye, the webcam light flicker. Then smiled automatically — Smile!. For a heartbeat, he froze. The smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.
A ripple of unease moved through him. He straightened up, rolled his shoulders, forced a little laugh.
Maybe he was getting paranoid.
Maybe he was just as nervous as the bride.
He leaned back again. The cursor blinked on the screen. Then — a new email.
From: Q. Onama. Subject: Payment pending.
He frowned. He didn’t know any Onama.
Curious, he clicked.
The message contained a single image — his own face, taken just seconds ago — and one line beneath it:
We both know what you have done.
That was all.
The smile dropped. He sat there, staring at his own reflection on the darkened screen, mind racing. Had he been hacked? How?
He checked his firewalls, logs, system files — everything clean. No breaches, no malware, no rootkits.
Nothing.
There were no traces. He hadn’t clicked any links. He hadn’t opened anything strange. Panic brushed his neck like static. Could it be the old man? The shopkeeper? That made no sense. The man barely understood how to send a PDF.
He closed the laptop. The lamp above him hummed.
And that was all. Nothing else happened.
But he was spooked, and that night, he slept badly.