“Shut thefuckup,” Harrison growls at him.Growls. “What is it, Eli?”
“An auction page on the dark web for—” I stop myself to swallow hard. “For humans. It’s human trafficking.”
Harrison nods as if he already knew, as if?—
“I have nothing to do with that,” Brent claims, sounding even more panicked now. “It was that fucker Dempsey, and you just let him go! He’s the one?—”
Faster than I ever thought he could move, Harrison whirls around and clamps a hand around Brent’s thick neck.
“You thought I wouldn’t keep an eye on you? That I wouldn’t make sure the mayor ofmy citywas fucking behaving?” The power behind those words is impossible to ignore, and in answer, Brent sputters and coughs—pretty pathetically too.
Not even the disgusting website can steal my attention away from the spectacle that is Harrison Crawfordowninghow powerful he is.
After a long moment, Harrison drops him like a stone, then gets out his phone and puts it to his ear after a few taps to the screen.
“Hey, Frank. Yeah, sorry for the late call. I need a favor. Can you send your most trusted and discreet agent to Carl Brent’s house? They’ll look good on the front pages of every newspaper in the city.” As he says that, Harrison locks eyes with Dad who nods once, confirming he’ll get it done. It helps that he owns most of those newspapers.
Then it clicks in my head, he’s calling Frank Huxley, the director of the FBI—the man who, embarrassingly, has my number and uses it whenever a hacker tries to get into their networks, just to make sure it’s not me... again.
When the call ends, Harrison looks at me. He knows about my brush with the law, but I doubt he’s thinking about that right now.
“An agent will be here soon, and you need to be able to explain everything to them and help them figure out how to shut that down and find every victim and client or whatever the fuck they call themselves. Can you do that?”
“Of course,” I agree after a heavy sigh, surprised he’s going to bring me in on this. I doubt this agent will have an issue with that... I’ve paid my dues with them, and the CIA. But even top agents in major cities don’t know about me, not the full truth anyway.
I remember my place belatedly, though, and turn to Dad, because I’m the Heir to his Chair, and it’s not my place to agree to do this. I’ve never been in a situation like this with the Turris before.
“You can stay, Michael,” Harrison tells Dad. “And sorry, Tucker, I need you to stay for a while too. Everyone else, get out of herebefore anyone sees you, and if you see that security guy, tell him to come in here.”
Tucker’s father, Jim, frowns disapprovingly at Harrison, but he nods at Tucker, and then he’s the first one out the door.
Iris goes in search of something to tie Brent up with and comes back with a roll of heavy-duty tape raised triumphantly over her head, then she slaps a long piece over his face while Tucker holds him still.
All the while, I keep trying to take control of the website, but whoever designed it knew what the hell they were doing.
I can’t dismantle it with only my tablet, I’d have to go to my home office—where I keep all my best toys—and spend a few hours doing it. But I don’t have that time right now since the FBI and a few trusted reporters are on their way to this house.
What I can do, thanks to the laminated piece of paper with the passwords, is get every single receipt of payment the website has ever gotten. That’s pretty much all the information the FBI will need, I think, before Brent’s arrest spreads out.
Whoever made the website, though... I have no doubt they’re going to shut it down the second the news gets out, so I focus all my energy on finding a signature in the code—every hacker I’ve encountered has one.
Ego is more often than not the downfall of geniuses, but I’ll never let it be mine, not again. In my naïve youth—okay, four years ago—I did leave my signature behind, but not because of ego, more because of a brand.
In certain circles, my handle is a stamp of approval, something that tells everyone there are good intentions behind my actions, but I’m past that nowadays.
“Eli.” Dad’s loud voice finally snaps me out of my trance, and I look away from the screens and see Tucker, Dad, Iris, Harrison, and a new man who I suppose is an FBI agent all staring at me. Brent is lying on the couch on his side, hands behind his back, still bound.
“What?” I ask, just a smidge exasperated, butcome on, I was in the zone. “I’m trying to find the hacker’s signature so I can track ’em later. As soon as news gets out, they’re probably going underground, andclearly...” I pause to gesture at the agent. “Time is running out.”
“What did you find, son?” Dad asks, he’s the only one who’s recovered from my rant, which makes sense because he’s been witness to them my whole life.
“I have every transaction ever made. From what I could see just skimming the list, a lot are Cayman Island accounts, so that’s gonna be tough, but all the others will probably be easy enough to identify the owners of.”
“That’s . . .” the agent says, wincing.
“Illegal?” I ask, smiling widely at him. “Yes, I know. All of this is very illegal.”
I refuse to apologize for one single thing I’ve done tonight now that I understand what’s really been going on under everyone’s noses.
