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Needing a distraction from the pain tearing at my heart, I throw myself into my work. Simone must feel the same. According to the text I received from Punk earlier, Simone was on a roll, breezing through the files like a prairie fire gone wild. As of noon today, she finished the last of the files we suspected to be targeted by our culprit.
Simone was passing the time by continuing her investigation of all the remaining client files in the firm. She’s thorough to a fault.
While I work to retrieve the stolen funds from the offshore account, Butch has taken over combing through the surveillance footage from the night of the computer Trojan incident. Neither job is fun, but my job is the only one that could wind my ass up in prison. Doesn’t matter if I’m giving the money back to the rightful owners, the overseas bank isn’t going to let millions be taken from them without a fight. This is where my hacking skills come in handy.
Malware dropped in emails of unsuspecting banking staff is opened, creating holes in the bank’s internal servers. While the bank’s security team is busy patching the holes in their software, I create a back door into the account. I wouldn’t say it’s easy work—it’s not at all. All my focus is on not screwing up the coding I enter in my computer at lightning speed. This work needs to be flawless and fast. But it’s a simple enough process for me.
Trent sits beside me, chewing on his thumbnail as he watches my screen. He says little, asking a tentative question here and there as I work. I want nothing more than to lash out with my fist into his pretty boy face for distracting me.
Instead, I answer his questions and continue on with the delicate process. Angering Simone is the last thing I want to do—I don’t want to give her a reason to leave me if she’s toying with the idea already. And beating the snot out of Trent is a surefire way to upset her.
Sweat builds around my forehead, dripping into my eyes. I don’t dare blink the sting away. There’s no time for a small reprieve. Hell, there’s barely time to breathe properly.
My fingers stop only when I’m inside the account. “I’m in.”
“Fuck yeah!” Ziggy crows across the room at his computer. “Ready when you are to make the transfer.”
“You need to be quick on covering my tracks, bro. We have less than a minute.”
“Bring it, man. Let’s do this.”
My fingers hit enter, the numbers scrolling steadily up on my screen. “Go!”
Ziggy types frenziedly, throwing up software barricades to slow the offshore bank’s security from stopping us.
I roll my chair over to another computer, watching the funds being deposited into a different offshore account one dollar at a time, too fast for my eyes to count. From here, we’ll be able to transfer money back to the firm, making the trail exceptionally difficult to trace.
Butch joins me at my computer, staring over my shoulder. “Come on,” he chants in a low voice as we eagerly watch for the last of the funds to be deposited.
The clock ticks loudly on the wall, counting down the final seconds before our cover is blown.
Ten…nine…
“Holy shit,” Trent muses aloud, watching the money pour in.
Eight…seven…
“Keep throwing up walls, Ziggy!” I holler. “Almost there.”
Six…five…four…
My eyes watch as we deposit the last dollar.
I rush to my first computer, quickly exiting the old account with a second to spare. “Halle-fucking-lujah!” I jump to my feet, high-fiving my brothers.
Trent falls back in his chair, rubbing his hands down his face. He looks at me with bewilderment in his wide eyes. “I can’t believe you did it. I can’t believe you got it all back.”
“Not all of it. The Oldani money is still MIA, but we’ll find it.”
Trent says nothing, appearing in shock as he stares at my computer screen. He shakes his head like he’s unable to believe what he’s witnessing.
Butch motions for me to follow him to his workstation. I sit beside him at his computer, looking at the video footage on the screen showing Cynthia. “You find something?”
“I didn’t want to disturb you in the middle of mission impossible, but yeah, I found something.”
Butch presses play on the surveillance recording. The image shows Cynthia running out of our conference room, where we’re stationed with our equipment. She jumps nearly out of her skin and slows her speed to a brisk walk when she hears the door she ripped open slam against the wall.
The video ends, and Butch starts the next one in the sequence. It picks up with Cynthia speed-walking through the back end of the building, where most of the staff cubicles are located. She spots the cleaning crew at work. Her steps falter, like she’s deciding where to go without being seen. One worker greets her. This snaps her back to reality. She lowers her head, her hair creating a natural curtain to shield her face from the cleaning crew as she hurries past them.
