My fingers move automatically, tracing the origin of the ransom demand in my email. It takes me less than a minute to conclude the sender has completely hidden their tracks. Their address is spoofed; the message says it comes from my own account. The delivery data has been falsified as well.
This email is the work of a serious hacker.
The entire time I’m pulling information, my brain screams a protest. I protect my clients’ privacy. There is no way anyone could have hacked into Lone Wolf to learn their names.
Ten million dollars in Bitcoin. Deposited to the account below by noon on Sunday…
Sunday. The day I owe Barry Lynch an answer about Kate.
Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.
I don’t believe in coincidence. It’s time for Kate and me to have a little conversation about hacking.
I have backdoors into every cell phone service provider in the country. It takes me less than five minutes to get her contactinformation. She doesn’t answer, of course, not when she has no way of recognizing my number. “Cole Wolf here,” I say in my message. “Call me so we can talk about your father’s offer.”
Three hours later, she hasn’t called back.
There is no way in hell Kate Lynch hasn’t looked at her phone in three hours. I text her, leaving the same message. I leave it again, in another hour. And a third time, an hour after that.
Then I have to get creative.
Official documents first—Kaitlín Minola Lynch is twenty-six years old. She was born in Baltimore County. She was issued her first passport before her third birthday, and she’s traveled back and forth to Ireland more than a dozen times. The early trips were in the company of Fionnula Lynch, whom I quickly confirm is Kate’s grandmother. Kate got her college degree at Trinity College in Dublin. She comes by her accent honestly.
That’s the easy part. The hard part is finding her on social media. She isn’t on any of the mainstream services, not under her name or any reasonable variation. No one has tagged her in posts or videos. She isn’t active in Trinity College alumni forums. She doesn’t sit on the boards of any registered corporations, doesn’t own real estate, and if she’s ever been arrested, she managed to have the records expunged. For all practical purposes, Kate Lynch doesn’t exist online.
I’m up against a wall. Kate still hasn’t responded to my phone call or to any of my texts. She’s leaving me no choice.
It takes me less than five minutes to find a back door into Barry Lynch’s computer system. That proves hedoesneed my services, badly enough to hand over the millions he’s promised. Now that I’m inside, I can do anything I want—cancel his bill pay, drain his bank accounts, file fraudulent tax records with government agencies around the world…
But I’m not trying to destroy the man today. I’m just trying to talk to his daughter.
Scrolling through his bank records, I look for expenses I canmake work for me. There. A monthly payment to Three Oaks Eldercare, a nursing home just outside of Baltimore. The funds are earmarked for the ongoing care of Fionnula Lynch, Kate’s grandmother and traveling companion.
I’m not sure what I’m looking for when I break into Three Oaks’ resident-care records. Maybe I’ll mark all payments as overdue, then send Kate the threat of her grandmother being turned out onto the street. Maybe I’ll mock up a drug regimen that will turn Fionnula into a zombie and menace Kate with that.
In the end, though, there’s a much simpler approach. Visitors are neatly recorded on every resident’s care chart.
And Kate Lynch visits her grandmother every Friday afternoon at four.
14
KATE
Ihurry into Three Oaks, doing my best not to drop anything in the lobby. I have a bouquet of daffodils—Granny’s favorite flower—and I stopped to buy a tin of the Berger’s cookies she loves. I picked up a box of Barry’s tea as well, the Gold Blend she’s drunk since she was a girl.
I always bring Granny gifts. It’s the least I can do, since Mam saw her squirreled away in this depressing “senior health center”. Granny deserves better than a windowless basement room that saves Da all of one hundred bucks a month. But my father went along with the decision. He said it was too depressing to deal with nurses coming to the house, with physical therapists and occupational therapists and all the other staff Granny needs to keep her well.
I offered to pay the difference. When that didn’t change Da’s mind, I threatened to withhold my monthly payment for the support of the Canton Crew. But in the end, Granny told me tosave my breath. She agreed to the transfer. She said it would keep the peace for Da, and Mam has the right to run the house as she sees fit.
Granny is the fiercest Lynch of all. She’s loyal and brave and willing to sacrifice anything for the clan. She’s the true reason I hand over my Red Cap earnings to Da. If I could be one tenth the mob princess she was growing up, I’d be guaranteed a place in heaven.
Poor Granny. There’s nothing wrong with her mind. She’s still fluent in English and in Irish. She balances her checkbook monthly, on paper, because she doesn’t trust “those feckin’ computers”. She readsThe Baltimore Sunevery morning, first page to last, and she can accurately recite every meal she’s eaten in the last week.
Granny’s mind is fine. But her body’s giving out.
My grandmother had polio as a girl, and she’s still paying the toll. Her leg muscles are so weak that she uses a wheelchair if she has to walk more than two or three steps. Her diaphragm and chest muscles have shrunk too, so it’s hard for her to breathe. She needs weekly ventilation therapy, and she carries two rescue inhalers. Her jaw and throat are compromised, so she has trouble chewing food, and she’s prone to choking if she isn’t careful. Even her beloved knitting leaves her exhausted.
I miss the woman I traveled with all over Ireland, the woman who showed me off to relatives, who taught me what it truly means to be a Lynch. Now, pausing in the hall outside her room, I try to fake a smile. I’m lousy at pretending, but maybe she won’t be able to tell.
