I pulled the crust off my pizza. “Depends.”
“On what?”
“On how much immunity I have for this mission,” I said.
“Let’s say none,” he replied.
I popped a piece of crust in my mouth, chewed, and swallowed. It gave me time to compose an answer. “So, hypothetically, if a person wanted to dig into an app, they’d use a decompiler—an app that can break any program down to its source code. Some applications are obfuscated to prevent that kind of thing, but hackers are always coming up with ways to break encryption.”
“And, hypothetically,” said Prefect, his tone utterly dry, “where would one get such a decompiler?”
I shrugged. “All sorts of places. They’re perfectly legal. It’s just copying and screwing with copyrighted source code that gets legally dicey.”
“And, hypothetically,” said Prefect, “what would a person find if they did dig into the source code of Lawyerbot?”
I grinned. This was the fun part. “Nothing. Because it’s not Lawyerbot.”
His fork froze on the way to his mouth. “What?”
“It’s not Lawyerbot,” I repeated. “It looks like Lawyerbot. It works like Lawyerbot. But the company hosting it isn’t the actual company that owns it. Someone impersonated the app, took the original down from the app store, and then replaced it with an identical one. Logos, trademarks, everything.”
“Where’s the money going?” asked Prefect.
I shrugged. “No idea. But definitely not into the real company’s bank accounts.”
“The CEO has to know,” said Prefect. “But he’skeeping it a secret instead of letting Lawyerbot’s subscribers know. Divulging that their entire app has been replaced would be rather alarming to their shareholders.”
“So the CEO brings us in rather than using his own cybersecurity experts. Less chance of the news leaking,” I said. I wadded up the last slice of my pizza and crammed it into my mouth. “There’f one fing I don’t get.”
Prefect winced at my lack of table manners. “And what’s that?”
“What’s the point of the app replacement?” I wiped my mouth with a napkin. “If someone wanted to damage the company’s reputation, they would be tanking cases. Or publicly claiming that they were responsible for the takeover. Or selling the information from the cases.”
“The hackers are making money,” said Prefect.
“Yeah, but there are easier ways for a hacker to make money,” I said. Then added, “Hypothetically.” I took a sip of water to wash down the pizza. “It takes education and experience to pretend to be a lawyer. Hijacking an app and providing legal advice is overly complicated if the only motive is money.”
One of the golden clocks along his arm glowed red. Prefect glanced down at the tattoo and tapped it twice. The clock’s color returned to gold. He picked up his phone and glanced at it.
“What is it?” I asked.
“One of our investigators managed to trace theaddress of the new ‘company,’” said Prefect. “You’ll be going undercover.”
I perked up. “As a lawyer?”
I rang the door buzzer in a food delivery T-shirt. “Hi, this is Augusta from Shrewd Food,” I said, with the bored intonation of a gig worker.
I stood by the door of an office building. The area was heavily industrial, a far cry from the brick buildings and gardens of Alexandria. My visor was connected to the stakeout van that Prefect currently occupied, so he could see everything that went on.
I buzzed again. “Hello?”
The food order was real. The hackers had a regular café they ordered from—but this time, Prefect had impounded the two plastic bags laden with food and given them to me. I wore the branded orange-and-white T-shirt, the shorts, and worn sneakers. My smart-dyed hair was a dark green.
There was no answer at the front door. Maybe the hackers had somehow realized I was an imposter.
“Sorry,” said a voice behind me.
I turned and saw a young man approaching. He wore a suit, but it was far cheaper than one of Prefect’s. It sagged a little around his shoulders, as though it had been meant for someone wider. He had the bright-eyed look of someone eager to help.
