“Definitely,” Sarah went on. “When that school really wants to find you, they hunt you down. Watch what happens if you’re late with a tuition bill.”
Amanda smiled. She felt genuinely relieved. “Oh, good, then maybe it’s not serious.”
“One hundred percent it’sabsolutelynot serious. I’d put it out of your mind completely. Pretend you never even got it. Like me.” Sarah was quiet then, her face grave as she looked toward the exit. “Trust me, ignorance sometimes really is bliss.”
KRELL INDUSTRIES
CONFIDENTIAL MEMORANDUM NOT FOR DISTRIBUTION
Attorney-Client Work Product
Privileged & Confidential
July 1
To:Brooklyn Country Day Board of Directors
From:Krell Industries
Subject:Data Breach & Cyber Incident Investigation—Progress Report
Interview Summaries:
SUBJECT FAMILY 0005:Does not know whether they received a conference request from Brooklyn Country Day due to shared family email. Will inquire of all family members once they have returned from camp.
SUBJECT FAMILY 0006:Received Brooklyn Country Day conference scheduling request but did not reply. Did receive other suspicious emails from different household accounts. May have responded.
SUBJECT FAMILY 0016:Received Brooklyn Country Day conference scheduling request and scheduled conference. A later message indicated that conference had been canceled and would be rescheduled.
PRELIMINARY CONCLUSIONS:
Brooklyn Country Day systems were compromised on or about April 30. At that time, extensive personal information about Brooklyn Country Day families was gathered, including children’s names, family emails, and other contact information. Access was obtained to the personal computers of individual families once they interacted with a counterfeit conference scheduling form. If a conference was scheduled it would subsequently be canceled with an automated follow-up email. If this access attempt failed, a second attempt was made using an alternate forged account. Based on syntactical variation and disparate IP locations, it appears likely that several individuals are responsible for the specific exchanges with subject families.
Lizzie
JULY 10, FRIDAY
The building that housed Millie’s company, Evidentiary Analytics, was tall and wrapped in mirrored glass like so many others in that stretch of Midtown East, north of the UN. The vast lobby was floor-to-ceiling marble with three different reception desks, the two most imposing reserved for Sony and Credit Suisse. The third, smaller desk was the catch-all for the remaining tenants. Millie had mentioned that she’d expanded her company into a partnership with a forensic expert. But this was already more impressive than I’d expected, which was encouraging. And after that meeting with Wendy Wallace, I was badly in need of encouragement.
On the thirty-sixth floor, I made my way down a long, fancy hallway—expensive-looking textured wallpaper, exceptionally clean carpets—and rang the bell under the polished sign for Evidentiary Analytics. A second later Millie, in a sensible if not exactly fashionable navy-blue suit, opened the door. Under the glare of the office lights, her skin had a distinct grayish tinge.
“Hi, sweetheart,” she said, reaching forward and pulling me into a hug.
This time, hugging Millie was like squeezing a pile of twigs. “Okay, why are you so thin?”
“Why, thank you, dear,” she said cheerfully, though it was obvious I hadn’t meant it as a compliment. She waved me inside. “Come on, come on. We’ve got some good stuff for you here. Real good.”
I’d called Millie right after I’d left Wendy Wallace’s office. I told her that Zach had been indicted and that I urgently needed some actual proof that someone else had been at the scene. This was all true, though I’d notably left out that the real urgency was that I was being blackmailed by my client. I was too ashamed. Also, Millie wouldn’t believe in caving to Zach’s demands, and I couldn’t risk her refusing to help because of it. Finding a new investigator would just mean more time on Zach’s case.
Inside the sleek, open-plan Evidentiary Analytics office, there was a small man with a thick, dark mustache and a mane of jet-black hair standing alongside the reception desk. Behind him a petite blond, curly-haired receptionist sat answering the phone. The man had droopy but kind eyes, which I tried to focus on instead of his hair, which was so unnatural in its blackness that it had to be a wig, a very bad one. Given how nice the office was, it seemed strange he hadn’t considered an upgrade.
“This is my partner, Vinnie,” Millie said. “Vinnie, this is Lizzie. She’s an old friend, so be friendly. It isn’t easy for Vinnie. Forensic guys aren’t known for their people skills.”
The droopy-eyed man scowled at Millie, then advanced toward me with an outstretched hand. His grip was surprisingly soft and puffy, like he was wearing a mitten.
“Lizzie Kitsakis,” I said. “Thank you so much for your help.”
“Don’t worry. It’ll cost you.” If this was meant as a joke, it wasn’t accompanied by even a hint of a smile.
