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Okay, let’s cut out the high school snarky babble. We’re older and hopefully wiser now. Yes, I want Mommy back, so put up with her for a bit longer. Once I find what I’m looking for, we can arrange the trade. It will be complex but what isn’t, right?
She paused, wondering whether to go there or not.Oh, what the hell.
And FYI I know who Daryl was. It was unnecessary. Why do that to him? We had a history, all of us. Granted he was not the brightest bulb, but he got out. You could have let that sleeping dog lie, right? He had a life. He was doing okay. You snuffed him for no reason. I know we’re all messed up. But let’s try to get this done the right way. You want the nice, quiet life with bags of money? Well, so do I. We act appropriately, we get there. We don’t, we all go down. Because there are others on the trail here and they have badges. So don’t screw this up. We have one shot. And only one.
Clarisse’s finger again hovered over the send key. This was serious shit. The person on the other end of this email trail was serious shit.
The key went down and the email went poof into the ethereal darkness. She wondered how long before the reply came, if there even was one. Clarisse’s email had been logical, rational, made sense all around, for their own well-being, their own survival. But the thing was, the person she was facing could not be counted on to see it that way. The most dangerous enemy of all was the one who, consciously or not, didn’t care about dying.
But in another way, it placed the person in danger of being anticipated by an adversary.
And that will probably be the only difference between my surviving this or not.
Because seeing Daryl Oxblood with his head nearly cut off changed everything for me.
Clarisse brought up some financial documents from a previous hack she had done. They belonged to Daniel Pottinger. They represented a dozen accounts from a similar number of financial institutions both foreign and domestic.
The problem was every single one of these accounts had been cleaned out and closed within the span of one week nearly seven months ago. Clarisse had only a guess on the total amount of money, but based on other things she had found and the cash price paid for Stormfield, she estimated it to be about half a billion dollars.
Now that qualified as a treasure under any definition. And she had always loved round numbers.
She figured Gibson would be able to snag these same documents at some point if she already hadn’t. Whether she would drill deeper was the question. Clarisse was banking that she could. ProEye could get into places no one else could.
I may not have ProEye-level resources, but I’m cleverer than the great Mickey Gibson is or ever will be. She was the great one everyone loved. I was the one no one loved or even knew existed. But I will show her. And everyone else.
She hit a key, and all those empty accounts disappeared from the screen.
Still, if I get there first, all well and good.
If Gibson gets there first, still all well and good, possibly.
She changed her clothes and hair and makeup and personality and demeanor.
She stopped at her laminator and pulled out the item she had encased in heated and hardened plastic. She trimmed off the edges and punched a hole in it, then ran it through a lanyard and placed that around her neck. She walked out the door because she had an appointment to keep.
Somehow I am loving every minute of this.
Even though I’m scared to death.
CHAPTER48
T?HE HOME WAS SIXTY YEARSold and on its last legs, and the yard undernourished and hence withered. The woman who lived here seemed to be all of these things rolled into one.
“Ms. Betty Gross?” Clarisse said.
“Yes?”
“I’m Sylvia Devereaux.” She held up her laminated card. “With the Virginia Employment Commission.”
“I don’t understand.”
Clarisse produced an iPad from her bag and said, “May I come in?”
“Am I in some sort of trouble?” asked Gross, clinging to the tattered screen door.
“Not at all. I’m here tohelpyou, at least I hope. I understand that you were recently employed by a Mr. Daniel Pottinger at his home, Stormfield?”
“That’s right. I was his housekeeper, but he let me go. He let everybody go.”
