Chapter Sixty-Five Grant
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
Grant
I’VE DONE THE RIGHT thing. I know this.
Yet, for the rest of the week, through the hours and hours I spend going through data, meeting with Dorothy and her staff, and then the investors, I can’t stop being pissed.
How the hell can Rae possibly think we could be more?
That’s what annoys me the most. She knew what we were. I was clear with her from the start. What we had was a power exchange, not romance. It was a game. A way to get our rocks off and enjoy ourselves.
It’s Friday evening, and the meeting with Dorothy and her investors was a huge waste of time. It was painful to watch her defend her decisions and management style to a group of people who have no idea what this company even does.
Thankfully, no major decisions have been made. In the meantime, the work I’ve done here feels ineffectual at best. How the hell did the information leak if no one broke into the system? Dane Wabash still hasn’t sent us his proof, so there’s still a chance he’s bluffing.
I’m at home, looking over videos of the lobby and building entry logs. Literally staring at lists, times, days, and black-and-white videos of every entrance to the building.
Nothing.
My mind wanders to Rae’s laugh out on the canoe.
How it started high and light but then evolved into this belly laugh when she passed a certain point.
Just the most joyous sound I’ve ever heard.
I feel it, even now, in my body. When I blink my computer back into focus, I have to literally wipe the smile from my face with my hand.
Not for the first time today, panic settles over me.
The job that I took on as a favor to a friend has turned into a nightmare. A failure.
And Rae. Every time I think of her—which is way too often—the panic comes back. Like forgetting something or missing a last plane out. Shit.
I stand up from my desk, which overlooks my front porch, and a slice of Dorothy’s porch to one side. Back in the kitchen, I go to make another coffee and then realize it’s probably ten o’clock at night and decide to switch to beer.
Through the wide window, I can see lights on next door. Malika and Dorothy are probably getting ready for bed.
Rae’s probably at the club. I should go. Check in on her. Make sure she’s being taken care of. Or call Lucas, at least.
I’ve got my phone in hand before it occurs to me that she is none of my business now.
I know this with absolute certainty. Except the idea, when I let it come, of finally finding someone to commit to, well, it doesn’t make me panic nearly as much as the notion of losing her.
Am I just too chickenshit to follow through?
No. No, I’m bad at relationships. Commitment. I’m not capable of loving someone like that. I never learned how.
Beer in hand, I head back to my desk and sit down. If I can’t fix what I had with Rae, I have to at least get to the bottom of whatever bullshit Dane Wabash cooked up. It’s taken me too long to unravel this mystery. The guy isn’t all that smart. What the hell am I missing, dammit?
I can only blame myself for this getting as out of hand as it has.
I got distracted. Carrying on with Rae was the most unprofessional thing I’ve ever done.
Hands down. I crossed a line, both professionally and personally, and this project has only suffered from it.
I’ll let Dorothy know I’m resigning. Recommend a few colleagues to take over from me.
As I pull up my laptop to type my resignation letter, an email from Dorothy pops up. She finally received the so-called data breach details from Dane and has forwarded it on. It is, according to his message, just a sample of the user information he found on the dark web.
My pulse picks up as I look over the sample. I recognize this data. I know this data. Hell, I planted this data myself. And I know exactly where. It makes no goddamn sense that the data got out, unless…
I turn and look through my side window, straight into Dorothy and Malika’s place. I’ve been there enough times to know that my desk points right at Dorothy’s home office. Even now, the monitor’s glow is visible through their curtains.
This is it. I know it.
I grab my phone, glad that the lamps are still on next door. I start to send her a text but then call instead.
“Evening, neighbor.”
“Saw your email.”
Her only response is an angry hum.
“I’ve got a question for you. Well, a couple.”
“Shoot.”
“That computer you have at home. The one in your office?”
“Yeah. You need to use it?”
“Nope. Thanks. No, but… it wouldn’t happen to be a work computer, would it?”
“What do you…? Oh. Oooooooh.”
“Can you access the office intranet from that machine? From home?” This could be something. I’m buzzing with that familiar tingle that tells me I’m about to close a case.
“Of course.”
“Please tell me it’s password protected.”
“It is.”
“A decent password. Like I taught you.”
“Well, I haven’t changed it recently, but it’s good. It’s Rachel’s birthday and her middle name.”
“Rachel? Your daughter, Rachel? The Rachel who’s married to Dane Wabash? The guy who’s after your company?” I inhale in an effort to control my annoyance. “You know, Dorothy, I’ll bet Dane knows her birthday.”
“Oh, shit.”
Bingo. This is it. I’m on the right path. Now I just have to prove the asshole did it himself.