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57
Selma opened her eyes, trying to clear the fog from her brain, as Lazlo strode into her office carrying a bag from their wireless provider.
“We have technology,” he said, holding the bag aloft.
It took a moment for her to realize she’d fallen asleep in the recliner, the journal in her lap. She’d finished it once, and was on the second reading, hoping to discover what, if anything, was so important about any of the entries written in it. “Please tell me you’ve heard from the Fargos.”
“Not yet. But I did get two working mobile phones that aren’t connected to any Fargo accounts. We can use them as hot spots for the laptops for the internet.”
“No regular internet?”
“That account was closed, and the poor girl trying to help me was far too confused.” He handed her the bag. “A new account and mobile phones were faster than trying to deal with corporate. I don’t suppose you had better luck with the banks?”
“The good news is, what wasn’t frozen as a result of the tampering I was able to freeze while the banks try to straighten everything out.” She pulled out one of the phones, then walked over to her desk to look up Georgia’s number. “The bad news is, it also keeps the Fargos from accessing any money.”
“Surely someone’s doing something to move things along?”
“The personal banker for their account talked to the FBI’s cybersecurity division. They’re opening a case. Which still isn’t putting money in the Fargos’ pockets.”
“I wouldn’t worry too much. They’re resourceful.”
Selma sat at her desk, putting the phone on speaker as she made the call. “Let’s hope Georgia has some idea of where they are.”
“Selma,” Georgia said when she answered. “Perfect timing. I just got off the phone with Remi. Everyone’s fine.”
“Thank goodness,” Selma said, as Lazlo pulled over a chair and sat next to her. Still, she wasn’t about to relax until she spoke with the Fargos personally. “We were hacked. Big-time.”
“They figured as much. They bought a couple of cell phones this morning. If you have a pen, I’ll give you the numbers, and the address where they’ll be staying temporarily.”
“Do you know how long they’ll be in Rome?” Selma asked, after writing down the information.
“Honestly, I don’t. They’re waiting for Chad and Oliver to meet up with them. But do call right away. I know they’re anxious to speak with you.”
Selma called the first number. Sam answered.
“Mr. Fargo . . .” she said, her sense of relief on hearing his voice almost overwhelming.
“We’re fine, Selma. How are you and Lazlo?”
“Keeping busy. Trying to sort everything out. How’d the auction go?”
“Definitely the right place,” Sam said. “Hold on. Let me get Remi. She has some names for you.”
“The broker was Lorenzo Rossi,” Remi said. “I didn’t quite catch the buyer’s name. It sounded like Warren. Or maybe Borden.”
Selma looked over at Lazlo, who immediately reached for the yellow legal pad with her notes scrawled all over it. “Last name?” she asked.
“I couldn’t tell,” Remi said. “The broker had a thick accent, and I was listening outside, so I didn’t have the best advantage.”
“There was a Reginald Oren in the journal,” Selma said. “Cousin to Jonathon Payton, the Viscount’s son.”
“Oren,” Sam said. “Didn’t Oliver say something about some relative making an offer on Payton Manor?”
“Definitely. And Allegra sort of brushed it off.”
Selma circled the name on her notes. “This gives us a whole new angle to research,” she said. “Reginald Oren stole the Gray Ghost. He’s mentioned prominently throughout the entire journal.”
“Interesting,” Remi said. “I haven’t finished reading it.”
