Chapter 3 - The War Room
We didn't stay in the house. Even with changed locks, my father wasn't taking any chances. We relocated to my father’s sprawling estate on the outskirts of the city, a fortress of wrought iron and high-tech security.
His library became our war room.
For the next forty-eight hours, I barely slept. I sat at my multi-monitor setup, doing what I did best. Marcus and Gerald thought I was just a code-monkey who built a tech startup. They didn't understand that a forensic cybersecurity analyst is essentially a digital bloodhound.
"They're trying to move the money," I announced on Wednesday morning.
Diane looked up from her legal pads. "Where?"
"Marcus is logging into the Cayman accounts. He's trying to transfer the seed funding from my startup into a shell company his dad owns."
I smiled—a real, genuine smile. "But I anticipated this. Before we ambushed him on Monday, I rewrote the administrative access protocols. He thinks he's transferring the funds, but he's actually funneling the money directly into a secure escrow account controlled by the federal court. And the best part? Every time he tries a new transaction, it logs his IP address and logs a new count of attempted wire fraud."
My father placed a hand on my shoulder, looking at the screens. "You're brilliant, sweetheart. He's digging his own grave."
"We need more than a grave," I said, my fingers flying across the keyboard. "I want to burn his empire to the ground. Gerald runs a logistics firm. I'm going to look into his books."
"Be careful," Diane warned. "If you cross the line into illegal hacking, the evidence becomes inadmissible."
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"I don't need to hack," I said. "Gerald is arrogant. Arrogant men use the same passwords for their banking as they do for their country club memberships. And those databases get leaked on the dark web all the time."
Within hours, I found it. Gerald wasn't just plotting to steal my company. He was actively laundering money for an offshore gambling syndicate.
