When I finally call Marty Lyon back, it takes an hour I don’t have to talk him off the ledge, lying through my teeth that Momentum won’t be any more of a target for hackers than it was before.
I fail making the same pitch to White Apple. They terminate my contract, effective immediately. By noon, another three clients send messages they’re jumping ship. Not one has the balls to tell me to my face.
But Barry Lynch keeps calling. He’s a hell of a lot more demanding than a typical new client, and he has a shorter fuse. It’s like I failed some test this morning, warning him off that crypto scam he was determined to invest in.
First, he wants me to confirm his internet is running at top speed. That’s a task any teenager with a phone could accomplish in sixty seconds, and I put him on hold for fifteen minutes before I complete the task, just to teach him a lesson.
An hour later, he wants me to automate some betting protocols,give him a direct feed to some bookie he trusts to make him a fortune. That’s a task he could have handed off to Kate years ago. It will take a couple of hours of work, but I tell him he can have it in a week.
On his third call, he wants me to hack into the computers of Nikolai Tarasov, his bratva counterpart. I gather there’s bad blood between the two mobs, and Lynch wants full access to the Baltimore pakhan’s network.
Despite taking up most of my day, Lynch hasn’t once mentioned his daughter. He hasn’t commented on our expected wedded bliss. He hasn’t acknowledged that he’s stealing me away from my supposed honeymoon. So I tell him the bratva is a long-term project, dangerous for both of us, and I’ll give him a month to change his mind.
That’s the one time I don’t lie.
I need to train Lynch. Exercise control.
The same as I need to manage Kate.
Per my request, Anna reported on the breakfast Nilsson delivered this morning. Kate poured herself a single cup of tea. She took one triangle of toast.
Unacceptable.
I text Maya Sutton, across the street.
Cole Wolf
Is Kate eating lunch with Mrs Lynch?
The nurse texts back immediately.
Maya Sutton
K says she isn’t hungry
I phone Nilsson.
“Sir?” he asks with his usual even tone. I could be interrupting anything from his scrolling social media to his defusing a nuclear weapon.
That’s not actually true. Nilsson doesn’t have any social media accounts. He has zero interest in keeping up with onlinefriends. With in-person ones, either. There’s a reason he’s my perfect chief of staff.
“Change of plans,” I say. “I’m going to rework some of the in-house security. Hold off on issuing credentials to Kate.”
“Sir,” he says. It’s impossible to tell if he thinks my delay is a good idea or a bad one.
“She can see her grandmother as often as she’d like. But otherwise, she’s not to leave the premises.”
“Yes, sir.”
I end the call with a single stab at the red button on my screen. Nilsson will have his hands full, once Kate realizes I’ve put her on lockdown. I have no doubt he can handle it.
I’m not acting completely out of spite. I’ve re-read my most recent blackmail message at least a dozen times:P.S. Congratulations on your wedding.
Someone knows I was at St. Brigid’s yesterday. They might have eyes on the house here. I built my home’s security for just this type of attack. I’d be a fool to breach my own defenses, even for my wife.
But I know—and Kate will too—that lockdown is about more than security.K says she isn’t hungry.
Well, K is breaking the rules.
